


Extra Extra!! Read All About It!

by MsBluebell



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bitterness, Denial of Feelings, Divorce, Domestic Fluff, Dr. Kogami's A+ Parenting, Everyone Has Issues, Exposure, Go doesn't even go here, Half-Hawaiian Ryouken, In Which The Lost Kids Get Wikileaked, Kougami Ryouken Guilt Train, Living Together, M/M, Medical Conditions, Minor Ai | Ignis/Fujiki Yuusaku, Misgendering, News Media, No Slowburn We Die In An Inferno, No one is having a good time, Paparazzi, Past Child Abuse, Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Shima Naoki Draws The Fucking Line In The Sand, Social Media, The Lost Incident (Yu-Gi-Oh), Trans Fujiki Yuusaku, Yusaku Asked For None Of This, Zaizen Akira and Kusanagi Shouichi Are Tired Adults
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:54:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 93,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25177252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsBluebell/pseuds/MsBluebell
Summary: Of course Yusaku's carefully constructed life would fall apart while he's in calculus. By someone he didn't even know was a player in the game.(Or, in which Bishop, Rook, and Knight respond to their demotion from Queen by wikileaking SOLtech. The Lost Incident is exposed. So are the Lost Kids.)
Relationships: Ai | Ignis & Fujiki Yuusaku, Flame & Homura Takeru, Fujiki Yuusaku & Homura Takeru, Fujiki Yuusaku & Kusanagi Jin, Fujiki Yuusaku & Kusanagi Shouichi, Fujiki Yuusaku & Shima Naoki, Fujiki Yuusaku/Revolver | Kougami Ryouken, Homura Takeru/Kamishirakawa Kiku, The Lost Kids & Revolver | Kougami Ryouken
Comments: 158
Kudos: 194





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

**Keyframe** _: A_ moment that seemed innocuous at the time but ended up marking a diversion into a strange new era of your life

* * *

It would figure that the life Yusaku had built for himself would come crumbling apart in the middle of a school day.

That it happened during calculus was also a given. He’s good at calculus, and Shima is in that particular class with him, so he often finds himself drifting off during that particular time period. It’s one of the rare times he finds himself peacefully resting, and the hour of sleep he experiences from the class counts as a good chunk of his rest within a twenty-four hour period. 

So he’s settled in the crook of his arms, lulled into a half sleep that left him just aware enough of the voices around him to hear Shima’s choked gasp, but drifting enough not to register nor care. “WHAT?!”  
  
“Mr. Shima, is there a problem?” He vaguely hears the teacher ask, because this is hardly the first time his classmate has gotten caught watching Vrains streams in class, and it’s certainly not the first time he’s made an outburst either. Though...wasn’t that usually reserved for…?  
  
“No! Nothing! I’m sorry.” Shima’s voice chuckles nervously. He hears a chair scrape as the boy settles back down in his seat, a few moments passing in silence. By now the other boy usually has tried to tell him what’s going on in Vrains. It’s unusual for him to go this quiet after being scolded by the teacher, obsessed as he was with the network. He doesn’t usually just let things settle quietly. Then again, Shima doesn’t usually grab him by the shoulder and start shaking him awake either, “Fujiki. Fujiki, wake up. Come _on_.”

Yusaku lets out a low groan, eyes cracking open to peer at his seatmate. Shima is leaning into his personal space, pale as bone and visibly sweating. He’s biting his bottom lip, eyes flickering all over the room, his table clenched so tightly in his hands that it was in danger of being cracked. When he spoke it was in a low whisper, a terrified shaking that he normally didn’t hear from the boisterous boy. “Fujiki, we gotta _go_.”

“Is this about Vrain’s again?” Yusaku mumbles, sitting up. His bones ache from the effort, small cracking noises sounding in his ear. He’s tired, and his skin tingles from the early rising. The spot on his shoulder Shima roughly grabbed pulsing, the ghost feeling of that hand grabbing him lingering even after the other boy pulled away. He’d normally brush off Shima, but he’s acting strange, and he’s also, usually, a good way to keep an eye out on whether the Knights of Hanoi are acting while he’s keeping up his facade of a normal life.

“ _No_.” Shima’s green eyes flicker towards the front of the class. He’s shaking the slightest bit, like he’s ready to burst with emotion but doesn’t want to risk another scolding. And he’s whispering still as he leans into Yusaku’s personal space. “We gotta get _out_ of here.”  
  
That’s alarming, but it’s still Shima, so it’s best to question him. While he is suitably obsessed enough with Vrains to act as an inadvertent information brooker, he’s also prone to dramatics and focusing on the wrong situations to be panicked over. It’s best not to take him too seriously. “It’s the middle of class.”

Shima puffs up indignantly, like he wants to blow up and say something. But he bites his lip, stopping himself in an usual show of subtlety. His eyes are flickering again, like he’s afraid the whole classroom will suddenly turn on them. His eyes settle back on Yusaku, face still pale and sweating, “Come on, just, please. It’s an _emergency_.”

“What kind?” He asks dully.

“I’ll explain outside.” Shima’s whole leg is bouncing impatiently, his whole body a nervous ball of pure anxiety. “Just...come on, _please_.”

Past experience with Shima told Yusaku that this was going to be a waste of time. Past experience with Shima also told Yusaku that it was more effort to ignore him than to listen and go along with whatever he was panicking about. So, with a resigned sigh, he pushes back his seat, grabbing his bag and mentally ticking off one of the leniences the teachers allowed him for skipping class. Even his impressive list of medical conditions only gave him so many, and Shima’s dramatics better be worth it. He doesn’t bother looking the teacher in the eye as he throws his bag over his shoulder, slipping out of the room.

Shima wasn’t far behind him, and a lot more noisey about his exit. If the teacher actually protested his leaving, Yusaku didn’t hear, because the other boy grabbed his wrist as soon as they were out of the room and tried to break out into a run. 

Yusaku jerked his wrist away, the skin burning from the contact, too unused to touch. He hissed as Shima yelped loudly, side stepping as the boy flew back a bit, not expecting Yusaku to pull away. The green haired boy, in his usual dramatics, whirled on him, clenching his fists. “Fujiki! This isn’t the time to be an asshole! We gotta...gotta...hide you!”

“Hide me?” Yusaku asked blandly, raising a brow. That was...specific, and made his suspicions start to ebb. He mentally calculated what Shima could mean, coming up with three possibilities, all of which were easily dismissed. Shima would have reacted much differently if he had somehow learned of his identity as Playmaker, nor did Yusaku believe he was deductive enough to discover that particular secret. That left something more mundane, perhaps something pertaining to his social status? It was the kind of thing that Shima cared for, though it was hardly something worth fleeing in the middle of class for. Something between, then. Perhaps he’s convinced Yusaku is somehow a target for something Lonely Brave did? It was a small possibility if Shima had managed to make someone angry. Though the blue haired boy somehow doubts anyone of true note or skill would waste their time threatening him.

Deciding that it was easiest to simply ask what this nonsense was about, Yusaku did exactly that, sighing as he leveled his classmate with his most unimpressed glare. “Explain what this is about first.”

The green haired boy squirmed where he stood, anxiety practically radiating from him as he fidgeted. “Look, something really, really, _really_ , bad just happened. And it involves you! We gotta go before the whole school finds out!”  
  
That was…rather hard to believe. Yusaku had been careful to make himself as distant as possible from the rest of the student body. He was mostly unnoticed in the hallways, and he was sure that most everyone struggled to even name him when he walked by. If something notable and attention grabbing were truly spread about him, then either it was a blatant falsehood based on drama, or it was something much more serious. “Explain.”

His classmate looked ready to throw up rather than explain himself. He was biting his lower lip so hard it looked almost mulled, and his squirming was finally reaching his usual dramatics. Finally, he simply couldn’t take it anymore, and burst out loudly, “ _Why didn’t you tell me you were kidnapped as a kid! I thought we were friends_!”

...what?

It was rare for Yusaku to find himself in a position of speechlessness. He has, over the years, become accustomed to indifference in most matters outside of his mission. Somewhere over the years of trying to rebuild himself after the Lost Incident and take back his life from those that tormented him, he’d learned to put all he had into revenge, burning himself out of anything else. Too paranoid for connections with others, too tired to try and work past it. Too exhausted for anything. Only his obsessive drive and focus keeping him going. So it comes as a surprise that Shima has managed to elicit genuine emotion outside of annoyance and bafflement.

He wishes that were a good thing.

“What?” His emotion is controlled, perfectly indifferent. It’s a false indifference, because there’s only one thing Shima can mean right now, but there’s no possible way, no reason Yusaku can explain to himself for why he knows.

“Bro.” Shima breaths, wide eyes starting to go teary, “It just dropped. Like, just now. Some whistle-blower at SOLtech leaked the whole thing.”  
  
A stone drops in Yusaku’s stomach.  
  
There’s no possible way, there is no feasible way. One, Yusaku himself had to dive into Vrains with several backdoors and helping hands just to break through SOLtech’s security and grab a name. He’d had carefully laid plans, and Ai, and Kusanagi, and Ghost Girl’s trap. Gaining that information was more difficult than even he could handle, than even the Knights of Hanoi could handle. There was no way. Two, even if it were possible, which it isn’t, that kind of information would be watched. Between Ai and Ryouken there was no way. There was no possible way...

Except Ai was gone, and Ryouken was somewhere off on a boat in the middle of the sea. 

But it didn’t matter, because there’s no way. Yusaku and Kusanagi had their own measures in place. And it wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be possible. That information was as sacred to SOLtech as the finest diamonds. Someone couldn’t have just snatched it from under their noses so easily. Someone couldn’t have.

“Fujiki? Fujiki, snap _out_ of it!” Shima is grabbing his shoulders again, shaking him. 

Yusaku blinks at the boy, not comprehending at first what is happening. Shima looks far more terrified than he is right now, but, objectively, the blue haired boy thinks that maybe he might be in denial, or shock. Either way, the only word that leaves his lips is, “How?”

“I told you, man, whistle-blower!” Shima squirms. Finally, he raises his tablet, turning the source of his anxiety towards Yusaku’s face. “Some asshole got fired or something and decided to take the whole company down with him! It’s all on there, and it’s spreading faster than the people at SOL can take it down! Everyone’s gonna see it soon!”  
  
On the screen was very clearly a picture of a younger Yusaku, scratched and burned, dull eyed and slumping, pale as a corpse and barely alive. Next to the photo was his name and his age at the time, six, along with a long, long, list of clinical observations that made no sense unless someone knew the particular details of what he went through. His stomach twisted as he realized how likely it was that he would find those very particulars if he swiped the screen upwards just a bit. 

Across from his photo and information was a more modern photo, his school ID photo, alongside it his school, a brief list of his medical conditions from before he whipped his public record, far more extensive than he allowed, and even his status with therapy and a list of his former doctors. 

‘ ** _Alias in Record: Subject 006_**

**_No known relatives. Orphaned. Monitor foster system._ **

**_Shows abnormally strong connection with the network and above average intelligence. Shows proficiency in logic based strategies and calculus based knowledge previously unexpressed._ **

**_Stubborn personality, insistence on finding other probable subjects he may have witnessed. Possible unrecorded seventh subject? Shows great fear he will be returned to facilities._ **

**_Risk factor for exposing Incident: High. Assign Dr. H. Lecter to minimize threat._ **

**_Lecter Report: Has encouraged anger towards Hanoi and away from SOLtech as a whole. Has discouraged public outcry by encouraging fear of attention. Instilled survivor’s guilt using belief of other subjects and encouraging the idea of their deaths. Personal resentment heightened._ **

**_Risk factor for exposing Incident: Incredibly Low. Dr. Lecter arrested for emotional abuse. OO6 to be further observed._ **

**_Observation Report: 006 disappeared for two years from watch before reappearing in records at Den City High._ **

**_Risk factor: Calculated Low. Further observation recommended_**.’

No longer able to stomach the reports, he stopped reading, his eyes flickering to a different part of the screen with other children were pictured and listed, their names and records on full display for someone as uninvolved as Shima to find. He felt his stomach twist when his eyes rolled over the photos of Kusanagi Jin, and only got worse with every other face displayed. 

“Who did this?” He couldn’t help but ask, because he hadn’t calculated this. There was no one that he could think of with both the skill and desire to do this. Nor could he think of anyone in SOLtech that was both high enough in the chain of command to have access to these files and would benefit from leaking them. What did they have to gain? Shima mentioned a demotion, but revenge couldn’t be all, could it? Not when SOLtech would surely have them put down for this. Yusaku and Jin’s lives couldn’t have been ruined over something so petty.

“I don’t know, some guy that used to be head dog but got replaced by some lady named Queen.” Shima is still shaking like he’s the one whole life was ruined, his eyes going everywhere, like he was afraid they would be jumped by a hoard any moment. “This was, like, an official Vrains announcement! Everyone with a Vrains account got this! And there’s totally already forms spreading, the videos are being shared-”

“There’s _videos_?” Yusaku demands, his head suddenly feeling too light. It’s like it’s spinning underwater and standing still all at onces. “Of what?”

“Lots of electrocution from what little I watched.” Shima looked a little green, cheeks puffing out like he was trying not to vomit. 

Yusaku felt like vomiting as well.

“Look, this thing is spreading faster than people can take it down.” Shima shook his head, knees knocking together, “Everyone is gonna see it soon, and you gotta get out of here before they do! You’ve gotta hide somewhere! The media is probably already-”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence, because Yusaku has already turned on his heels and started running. Shima makes a starting noise, calling for him to wait, but Yusaku isn’t listening. His heart is pounding too hard, the rush of his own blood audible in his ears. 

Three things, think of three things. 

First, he needs to get somewhere and hide. Somewhere private. Somewhere others, like the media, won’t think to look. Den City High will be the first place they look, with its name so blatantly attached to his file. He needs to sneak out as quickly as possible. After that he should go somewhere else. Was his apartment safe? It was a shithole, with nothing but a single room and flimsy doors, but he didn’t see it’s address listed. Then again, he didn’t read his entire file either, and if they have his school files they likely have his address. It wasn’t safe to go there. He’ll have to figure out something after he gets off the school grounds. 

Second, he needs to contact Kusanagi, assuming he doesn’t already know. He has a Vrains account himself, he’ll have gotten the news in his inbox. But he’s also a food vender, and finding time to check your phone messages is difficult. Yusaku should physically call him and warn him just in case.

Three, he needs a disguise.

“Fujiki! _Wait_!” Shima calls, rushing next to him, face red from exertion. “Where are you even going?”

He doesn’t bother explaining, he doesn’t have the time. He pulls out his phone, scrolling through his thankfully meager contacts and calling Kusanagi without another comment.

Kusanagi, thankfully, is always quick to pick up, “Yusaku? What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

So he didn’t know, then. “Check your Vrains announcements.”

“What?” Kusanagi’s voice twisted. He went silent for a moment, a long, long, moment. Yusaku heard a distant curse echo loudly, then Kusanagi returned, “Yusaku, get out of there. I’m coming to get you.”

“Not the front gates.” Yusaku warned, green eyes flickering out the window. He didn’t see anyone yet, but he didn’t trust the risk factor. He would take an alternate route. “Meet me two streets over, I’ll find a way there before people track me down.”  
  
“Right.” Kusanagi hung up without another word. Yusaku shoved his phone into his pocket, shuffling down a row of stairs, aiming for the emergency exit at the bottom. Behind him Shima was still shuffling after him, gasping for breath.  
  
“Don’t follow me.” Yusaku warned the boy, knowing well enough about his classmate’s nature. Shima thinks he’s involved in this, but he isn’t, and Yusaku isn’t about to be the one to drag him into this when he really doesn’t have a stake. 

“You need help, Fujiki.” Shima stated between gasps, not slowing down despite his fatigue. “With that hair everyone is gonna spot you in a second. You need to get a hat, and someone’s gotta distract people while you book it.”

That was...surprisingly intelligent and considerate of his classmate. Yusaku immediately didn’t trust it, “And you’re offering to distract anyone that spots us?”

“For god’s _sake_ , Fujiki, you got fucking kidnapped by those dirty Knights of Hanoi.” Shima seemed to experience a sudden burst of energy, speeding up and descending the stairs right beside Yusaku, throwing open the emergency exit when they finally reached it, barreling through like a wild monkey and throwing a fit. “I’m not gonna let people _harass_ you! As your _best friend_ I won’t let it happen!”

While his classmate was making that particular declaration, Yusaku checked their surroundings, not wanting to be caught off guard. Seems Shima’s obsession with all things Vrains was finally starting to pay off for Yusaku, because there weren’t any reporters or other media gathered to wait for him. Yet.

Shima shuffled off his jacket, waving it like a flag and before tossing it towards him, throwing it over Yusaku’s head. The blue haired boy blinked, about to rip it off, but Shima protested loudly first, “Hide jackass! You stick out!”

“And running around with your school jacket over my head won’t make me stick out?” Yusaku felt a spark of irritation.

“At least people won’t _recognize_ you right away!”

Protesting, Yusaku decided, would be a waste of time, so he sharply turned instead, heading between two buildings and jumping past more than a few unhappy civilians as he beelined for the meeting point. Shima yelped, struggling to keep up. 

“Where are we going?” Shima calls toward him, “You’ve got a safe place, right? Your file said-”

“Shut up.” Yusaku doesn’t want to hear what his file said. He’ll probably be hearing and reading _plenty_ about what his file said soon. “I’ve got somewhere, you don’t need to follow.”

“I’m not leaving you by yourself until I know you’re okay!” Shima insists, gasping for breath but refusing to slow down as they run. 

Yusaku doesn’t bother trying to stop him again, focused on getting to their meeting spot. Fortunately, two streets over isn’t a long way off. Unfortunately, Kusanagi isn’t there yet when Yusaku reaches it, and he has to skid to a stop on the concrete, eyes flickering up and down the road.

“Why did you stop?” Shima gasps, his whole face is red, and he’s covered in sweat despite the short run. He bends over, hands on his knees, gasping, before straightening up. “Are we-”

But because his life isn’t ruined enough yet, the street isn’t emptied, and at least one person here happens to have a Vrains account and have checked their messages. Yusaku can tell this by the way they stare at him wide eyed and open mouth, raising a hand to point at him, “You’re number six!”

Immediately, Shima is on the guy, screeching like a monkey and throwing himself at the surprised man, “He has a _name_ you asshole! And pointing is _rude_!”

Seems Shima’s goal of being a distraction came to fruition after all, because soon any an all attention was on him and the guy he just attacked as they quickly descended into a fist fight right in the middle of the street, Shima yelling indiscernible things about rudeness and friendship that Yusaku didn’t bother to pay attention to because they squabble was very, very, quickly gathering a crowd. The blue haired boy clutched the jacket Shima threw over his hair, backing away from the quickly forming mass, slipping down to the now quieter half of the road.

The way Shima was going, the police were probably going to be called.

But by the time that happened Yusaku would be long gone. With hope, Shima would be wise enough to flee before the police were able to respond. Much as the boy was an annoyance most days, he didn’t deserve jail, especially when his goals were so objectively noble.

Yusaku made a mental note to repay Shima for all this later. And maybe start calling him by his first name, it was very nice of him to go so far in the name of his privacy. Yusaku would extend the effort of being nicer to him from now on, assuming he ever saw the boy again. 

But right now he couldn’t focus on that. Instead he placed himself as far away from the ruckus as possible, trying to blend into the background until Kusanagi could get to him.

Shima’s distraction was good, though. No one was paying attention to the jacket covering Yusaku when there was a high-schooler throwing a downright fit against another guy, yelling loudly about ethics and all sorts of very liberal political beliefs he apparently had. No one even glanced at him twice. So when Kusanagi pulled up, Yusaku was able to slip right into the food truck without fuss, “ _Drive_.”

“What the _hell_?” Kusanagi burst, eyeing the crowd, “What is going on?”

“Shima is distracting them, now go.” Yusaku demanded, slamming the door closed and buckling his seat belt.

“Okay, okay.” Kusanagi didn’t hesitate, driving off and leaving the ever growing crowd behind. The older man kept glancing back at it though, biting his lip until it was out of sight, “Remind me to hack that boy’s record and clear him later.”

“I will.” He nodded, “But later. Have you heard anything?”

“I called Jin’s hospital and warned them. They’re getting security on it just in case.” Kusanagi breathed, hands going white knuckled on the steering wheel. “It’s already on the news. We should be seeing reporters going insane soon.”

“ _Fuck_.” Yusaku breathed, finally letting himself slump against the seat. “How did this happen?”

“I don’t _know_ , I came straight for you.” Kusanagi glanced around, trying to decide where he even wanted to go from here. “You don’t think my apartment is safe, do you?”

“Your name will be on Jin’s file.” Yusaku pointed out, wrinkling his nose. “Someone will find out where you live eventually, and they’ll _flood_ the parking lot.”

“Then where do we even go?” Kusanagi asked, purple eyes still flickering in every direction, as if he thought that any moment now a news van would show up and crash head first into his food truck, “You don’t happen to have a safe-house for if you were ever tracked, do you?”

“It’s in the sewer.” Yusaku answered immediately.

Kusanagi paused, face twisting in disbelief. He wrinkled his nose, looking absolutely disgusted. “You’re kidding...right?”

Yusaku wasn’t. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I have to do this? No.
> 
> Did I do it? Yes.
> 
> Look, it's not my fault that Rook, Bishop, and Knight were built up as really important in the first season and then nothing ever happened with them. And, much as I love Queen, she did come out of nowhere. Her being the most powerful fits the chess theme, but Rook, Bishop, and Knight just sort of disappeared without a trace after that. Which, considering Akira answered to them, is really eyebrow raising.
> 
> So now Wikileaks is happening. They'll probably die for this, but at least SOLtech is going down with them.
> 
> Rip the Lost Kid's privacy.


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

**Greng-jai** : ( _Thai_ ) The uneasy feeling you get when someone goes out of their way to help you but you know it is a hassle.

* * *

There wasn’t much sleep Ryouken could get on the yacht.

Despite being a reasonable size, the boat wasn’t actually very good for living, especially not for four men. Never mind two of said men being teenagers, and the yacht was a luxury edition that came with a fully furnished living room and television and kitchen. Never mind that it was nicer than most people’s houses. It all didn’t matter when you had to share one small bathroom with a toilet that was too low to the ground, and a shower that he barely had elbow room in. Never mind the fact that there were only two bedrooms, each with a single master bed so they all had to share. 

He trusts others with his life, but he doesn’t want to share a bed with any of them. Never mind the sudden lack of privacy he was subjected to. Especially in the beginning, during a time of such grief and hatred and betrayal and contrasting feelings, when all he wanted was to be alone, but he couldn’t because he was trapped with three other people always only a few feet away at all times. Whoever thought living in small spaces and tiny houses with their whole families was a good idea was mad. It leaves him irritable at best, and he spends most of his days behind a desk in the living room, tapping away at a computer screen or staring at the roof just so he doesn’t have to think or speak or face the world. 

And he hasn’t even broken Kyoko out of prison yet.

He’s going to need to buy another yacht, maybe, which isn’t cheap. Luckily he’s from a long line of wealth. Wealth that’s only grown because he’s from a just as long line of respected scientists that have all done great things and earned just as great paychecks. 

What a way for that line to end, he muses, with sad Ryouken on his sad fucking boat in the middle of a sad sea. 

He knows, objectively speaking, that a thought like that is just the unresolved grief and guilt speaking, but he’s also not thinking much about what comes after the yacht. He hasn’t thought much further than eventually breaking Kyoko out of prison, because he still needs her skills if he’s going to take down the Ignis, but he hasn’t thought beyond that. The tower was the backup plan, the foolproof that wasn’t supposed to fail. It was supposed to work. It was supposed to destroy the Ignis, and the network, and Playmaker and himself along with it, finally fulfilling his father’s last mission after five long years.

He wasn’t supposed to live this long. 

They were supposed to _die_ _together_.

Ryouken wasn’t planning on making it past that moment at the tower. He’d been so certain of his own victory, so fundamentally sure of his superior strength and planning, so full of faith in his father and the program that even with his promise to Playmaker and his past losses he was sure they were going to fall. That was the way it was supposed to be, everything he’d worked for finally completed, and the symbol of his greatest mistakes and obsessions dying with him in his arms as humanity’s future was secured.

He hadn’t had plans for past that. He hadn’t needed them when there was no future.

So now he’s on this shitty boat that they were lucky to have already owned, on their hasty getaway, trying to figure out what to do next, and all Ryouken wants to do is shut himself into a room and never leave again as he obsesses over his own conflicting feelings.

Again, objectively, he knows he’ll eventually work through this. But at the moment he’s eighteen, just lost his father two months ago, and living on a fucking boat where he’s either sharing a bed with Spectre or Aso because he outright refuses to share with Gerome and that’s the one mercy they give him.

He _hates_ this stupid boat.

And that’s what he’s doing now, sitting at his desk and hating this boat while he’s working on his plans to, eventually, actually break Kyoko out of prison. Eventually. But it’s not going well right now, because his own bastard emotions are getting in the way. He needs Kyoko, he knows that. And, more than that, she’s family. She’s family and he needs her and…

...and freeing her takes away the only justice her victims were offered.

He hisses at his own hesitation, lips forming a snarl at the weak thought enters his brain. It doesn’t matter. Most of the children didn’t even know those involved. And, regardless, he can’t risk the future of humanity because of something as petty as feelings.

So he hisses, forcing his thoughts away from that direction and back on his task. He’s already left her there for two months. And, frankly, that’s two months too long. They need to start planning now if they want to work around Playmaker and his naive insistence on protecting the Ignis he named “Ai”.

By god, _naming_ it.

Ryouken would have _thought_ he’d shed the naivety after…

A bitter laugh leaves his lips. How can someone be so paranoid and suspicious and so naive at the same time? Stupid Playmaker. Fool. Hopeful, naive, beautiful little idiot. By god, he honestly thinks there’s a future for them all. 

With a sigh, he rubbed his eyes, trying to work away the headache. He doesn’t want to think about him. Why can’t he just work on breaking out a prisoner in peace? Even on a yacht in the middle of the sea, miles away, without having touched Vrains with his Revolver account, Playmaker was still chasing him.

Bastard. First he wouldn’t let them die and now he won’t let him break out a known cyber-terrorist from prison. 

His sour thoughts are interrupted by a ping, his Vrains account popping up with a player wide announcement. He grunted in annoyance, not pleased with having his teenage brooding interrupted by spam of all things. Icy eyes glare fiercely, lips twitching into a snarl as he moves to delete it from his screen.

Until he reads the Subject line.

**THE LOST INCIDENT/HANOI PROJECT**

The teenager stares for a good minute, mind blank for what must have been more than an acceptable passage of time before one singular thought escapes his lips, “ _Fuck_.”

* * *

The safe-house wasn’t really anything resembling a house. Or actually anything even remotely resembling safe, for that matter. 

Yusaku had set up his equipment in one of the older electrical rooms about a mile walk from the nearest ladder. One with rested operating systems and electrical grids from before Den City made the switch to manually controlled, and then eventually AI controlled, cleaning bots in order to upkeep the sewers. The room, for lack of a better word, was just spacey enough for two people to walk around and handle the equipment. The equipment in question was nothing but long rusted squares of what used to be electrical sockets and levers to turn on lights and drain antechambers.

  
  
When he was thirteen and found the place, Yusaku had cleared out one of these machines, harvesting the rusted bolts and wires to use for later, shoving supplies inside the emptied shells and bolting the doors back on like they’d never been tampered with in the first place. He’d done it to every machine in the room. 

Inside his supplies consisted of a single sleeping bag, three med-kits, two T-shirts, two pairs of jeans, an old pair of shoes, and four different hoodies. The rest were basic survival supplies. Food, water, flashlights, back up batteries for his laptop, solar powered chargers. Everything he’d need to hole himself in this room for a long, _long_ , time should worse come to worst, as it has.

Kusanagi was not impressed. 

“There is no way this is sanitary.” He wrinkled his nose, eyes squinting as he tried to see in the low light. It made his face look even more disgusted than it was. Which was impressive if Yusaku was to trust the way his lips were twisting before he pulled the shirt over the lower half of his face. “I can smell the shit through the wall.”

“It’s a _sewer_ , it was never going to be clean.” Yusaku replies, rolling out his sleeping bag on the floor. It’s a cheap thing he got used at a second hand shop, the cotton stuffing long flattened, but it still cushioned the stone floor a bit. It wouldn’t be a comfortable sleep tonight by any stretch, but the safe house wasn’t meant for comfort. He sat on one side of the sleeping bag, patting the spot beside him, gesturing for the older man to sit.

Kusanagi wrinkled his nose from beneath his shirt, absolutely refusing to sit down. “I’m sure there’s _somewhere_ else we can go.”

“I’m sixteen, an orphan, and living off a stimulus check.” Yusaku stated dully, moving to shuffle through his school bag and pull out his laptop. He wisely keeps silent about his backup supplies, which were tapped under a bridge outside another half mile away, just above the sludge and sewer water. Instead he focuses on work, trying to reach the network. The connection to the network is terrible down here, but if he works now he can bounce off one of the cleaning bot's connections and keep up with what is going on above ground. 

Kusanagi apparently doesn’t approve of this either, “Yusaku...I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to try and connect to the network right now.”

“I won’t get caught.” He assures the older man, fingers already flying over the keyboard as he hacks the nearest cleaning bot. The connection was really terrible, but it would be fine so long as he didn’t do anything too exciting. It would be good for loading some news pages, maybe view a few uploaded videos. But he doubts that any live streaming will happen.

  
  
His companion makes a noise, tilting his head and scratching the back of his head awkwardly. Green eyes flicker upwards to meet grey. Kusanagi lets his eyes flicker away for a moment, coughing into his hand, or trying to, his shirt got in the way. The older man shuffled a bit more, leaving Yusaku to wait and watch him until he finally decided to speak. “I’m not worried about you getting _caught_ , Yusaku.”

“You should.” Yusaku tells him. And if there’s a bit of bitterness leaking into his voice then he doesn’t think Kusanagi will blame him. Now that he’s slowing down, now that he's sitting down and the adrenaline is fading from his system, exhaustion was starting to set in. His body slumped a bit, and his skin throbbed before finally going numb. He was exhausted in every sense of the word, even his emotions becoming more numb than even he was used to. “Everyone is going to know my face soon.”

Kusanagi hissed, actually flinching at the words. “That’s what I was talking about, actually.”

“Oh?” Yusaku leans his head back against the stone wall. It doesn’t do him any favors other than providing a hard pillow for his head to lull against. It helps, he thinks. If only because it gives his neck a break. 

“Yusaku.” Kusanagi’s voice hardens, a new confidence burning into him as his face twists in anger. The panic and adrenaline must be wearing off for him too, because now his eyes have sharpened, becoming more focused as rage bleeds into them and makes the grey irises seem murky and dark. His hands clench into white knuckled fists at his side, and the shirt he was using to shield himself from the stench falling away, revealing the snarl that has found it’s way on his lips. “I don’t want you looking at that shit.”

Illogical. Erratic. Unnecessary. Those are the three worlds that filter through him at Kusanagi’s command. The man is angry, and concerned. He has every right to be. Both of their lives have just been leaked to every single account in Vrains without a single care or regard to the people whose lives would be ruined by this. Not just Jin and he, but Kusanagi himself wasn’t going to be able to walk the street anymore, nor would the rest of the victim’s families. And even that wasn’t the end of it. There were other people involved. Doctors who had been forced into silence, therapists, nurses, teachers. A few people who hadn’t even known about what happened to him. They were all dragged into this mess. 

It was reasonable to be angry.

  
  
“We need to know what’s going on.” Yusaku reasons, hands lazy against the keyboard. His fingers aren’t moving, it feels strange to just keep them still against the buttons. They’re almost always moving. But everything is so slow to connect down here. He’s fairly certain he doesn’t like it.

  
  
“We _know_ what’s going on.” Kusanagi snaps, throwing his arm out. Yusaku’s body jerks a bit, his eyes widening. He doesn’t think Kusanagi has ever snapped at him before. Not in his memory. There was never a reason for him to as far as he remembers. They’ve rarely disagreed, and the few times they have it’s always been resolved with calm discussion. The man has never snapped at him, or yelled at him. It’s not something Yusaku is used to, not something he thinks he’ll ever get used to. It makes his stomach sink, and even through his exhaustion he can feel a twinge of fear and regret. 

“I’m sorry.” He apologizes immediately, because Kusanagi is the one person he’s never wanted to make angry.

“No!” The dark haired man jerks, face twitching. He pinches his eyes shut, rubbing his hands over his face. “No. Yusaku, I just meant…”

Kusanagi trails off, face twisting again. His eyes flicker over Yusaku, brows pinching together and lips becoming a thin white line. He clicked his tongue, exhaling a long sigh, “I just don’t want _you_ to have to see that shit.”

Yusaku frowned at him.

“It’s…” The older man waved a hand in the air, gesturing towards nothing in particular. “...look, everything was leaked, right? So it’s pretty obvious what they’re going to be talking about. You shouldn’t have to listen to that. You shouldn’t have to _see_ that.”

The younger boy let his eyes flicker over Kusanagi, watching the older man as he stood there, looking absolutely defeated. He was a pitiful sight, somewhere between endless, simmering, rage and absolute despair. Seems like the reality of their situation is finally hitting him as well. So Yusaku tried to be gentle with him as he spoke, extending the rare effort, “Kusanagi, how else are we going to know when it’s safe to go back to our apartments? Or if one of the others…”

He trails off, not sure what he wants to say. What if one of the other victims disappears? What if they talk about the experience? What if someone harasses them? There’s so many things that could happen now that they’ve been exposed, and very little Yusaku can do about it. Eventually, the news would blow over, it always does. But even when it’s gone everyone, absolutely _everyone_ he’ll ever meet from now on, will know. 

For the media, this was just a few months of entertainment at best, for the victims...everywhere they’ll ever go from now on they’ll be recognized eventually. It will affect their abilities to find jobs, apply for schools, do anything normal, really. And that was just everyday life. Who knows what will happen if...if someone more scientific and curious decided to see just what “connection to the network” means and how far they could push it.

They’re all at risk, he realizes with growing dread. This puts a target on their backs not just from SOLtech and the Hanoi, assuming they’re still around soon, but also every other potential rival, or even just scientifically minded, company in the world. God knows what would happen if an openly abnormal company like Aperture Science got their hands on them. 

And all of that wasn’t even taking the economical situation into account. Admittedly, Yusaku wasn’t the most knowledgeable when it came to economics, but even he knew that SOLtech owned Den City and surrounding areas. Their whole coast was basically a giant city-state owned by them, and their technology fueled everything. While they were the only business, food trucks like Cafe Nagi and cleaning services existed outside of them, they were the most prolific, and everything was tied to them. Everyone knew that any governmental titles were just gloried positions that answered to the SOLtech Board. The mayor of Den City was basically a glorified bookkeeper, one that Yusaku couldn’t even name. If SOLtech falls because of this, then what happened to the city? Or the smaller towns around them? What would happen to Vrains without SOLtech employees to keep up their servers? Not an insignificant amount of the internet has transitioned to work on Vrains servers. 

“I know what you’re going to say.” Kusanagi shakes his head, pinching his eye closed like even thinking about it was causing him pain. “But...I still don’t want you looking at that shit.”

Yusaku pursed his lips, realizing that they were trapped in a rare moment of disagreement. 

“Look.” Kusanagi sighed again, frustration leaking into his features. “I just...let me handle it, okay?”

“By yourself?” Yusaku frowns again, “Kusanagi-”

“ _Please_.” The man holds up his hand, stopping Yusaku before he can even finish his sentence. “I don’t want you near that Yusaku. They’re...they’re not just talking about some random scumbag. They’re talking about you, and Jin, and they’re going to be going over every single piece of your lives. And they’re going to go through everything. Not just the Lost Incident, but everything that came after. Every bit. They’re going to be picking apart everything about you. And god knows what they’ll show. They...triggering shit is going to be shown and talked about, and I don’t want you anywhere near that.”

That was...a reasonable concern, and one that Yusaku had failed to take into account. While he did realize that his whole life was about to be on the chopping block for the general public, he hadn’t realized that the media may very well be callus enough to specifically bring up triggering content. He paused, suddenly uncertain, “...you don’t think they’ll show the videos...do you?”

“I don’t know.” Kusanagi tells him bluntly, honestly. He’s still somewhere between angered and defeated, purposely unclenching his hands and forcing them to rest on his hips, lest he punch something. “But they’re most certainly going to be talked about. And even if the news broadcast doesn't show them, it’ll be hours before they’re taken down from video sites with guidelines. And they’ll probably never leave the Dark Web or less reputable sites.”

The Dark Web. Yusaku hadn’t even considered that place. It was useful for gathering information and looking at banned content, but that just meant it was a cesspool of illegal activity. He’s spent time there as Unknown, tracking down information on the Knights of Hanoi, picking apart information that leaked through the cracks of SOLtech’s cleanup crew. But he’s come across some _sick_ things there, and the idea that videos of him being tortured as a child making its way onto one of those sites to be used as a snuff film for some _bastard’s_ enjoyment makes him feel ill. 

“I don’t want you seeing that.” Kusanagi states again, voice firm. His jaw is twitching now, the rage dying out and his voice coming out more uneven. “Please don’t...don’t look for that shit Yusaku. I don’t want you to see that.”

“ _Oh god_ …” Yusaku breaths. The reality finally started to catch up with him. 

“Yusaku.” Kusanagi’s voice is more strangled now, more broken. He’s failing to keep himself from trembling now as the last of his anger fades, failing to keep just how badly he’s handling this situation hidden. “Promise me you won’t go on there.”

“I…” He tries, but his voice fails him. 

His whole life really was ruined, wasn’t it? Just when he finally decided to live again. Just when time finally started to move forward, and he felt like he’d found closure, like he could truly move on. It was all over just like that. Now he’s fixed in time again, forever trapped as one of six victims. 

‘ _You’re number six!_ ’

It’s not often that Yusaku finds himself stuck in despair. He’s not crier, not anymore. When he was younger he cried all the time. He was an emotional child, highly empathetic, his therapist said. A heart too big for his body, his teacher has claimed. But the Lost Incident burned him out. It emptied his tear ducts, and numbed his heart, and left him too tired to feel much of anything for a long, long, time. And too tired to express himself the few times he felt anything. 

But sometimes...sometimes that's not the case.

And he’s been... _feeling_ more, since his confrontation with the Knights of Hanoi. He’s gotten closure with a lot of things. With Dr. Kogami’s death, with knowing that the people responsible for his torment weren’t in a position to ever hurt anyone again, running off with their tails between their legs and basically no resources. One of them being imprisoned. And, of course, with his speci-with Ryouken. 

Okay, maybe not quite with Ryouken. There were a lot of unresolved issues between them. There was a lot left to say, things the other boy didn’t want to hear, would rather run off on a boat then listen to. But even just knowing he’s alive and well, not dead in an unmarked grave or trapped in another white room, had been enough to stop countless nightmares for him. 

So he’s started to...recover...a bit. He’s started to feel less angry, less burned out. He’s started to feel more positive things, things that made him feel more _alive_. He wasn’t _fixed_ by any stretch, he never would be, but he was alive again. He could live again, move towards the future. But that’s over now. There is no future. From now on everything, absolutely everything, he did would be shadowed with his status as one of Hanoi’s victims. 

His eyes flickered down towards the laptop screen as something pinged, the network finally connecting. But he can’t find it in himself to log on to anything. Or move for that matter. His arms are too heavy, and his lips are trembling. Oh, and his eyes have watered a bit. He’s not crying, per se, but he’s close. He’s emotional. He doesn’t think it’d take much to push him over the edge. “It’s over, isn’t it?”

“What’s over?” Kusanagi asks as evenly as he can, voice still tinged with sadness, but he’s admirably keeping it together.

“Seizing for the future.” Yusaku explains, his shoulders slumping. “Moving on. Finally moving past them and _living_ again.”

For a moment, Yusaku wishes that he’d splurged on a little money for a better sleeping bag so he could lay down and curl into a ball without basically sleeping on solid stone. Like he’d done back then…

He should have thought this safe-house through.

“Yusaku.” The blue haired boy flinches, looking up to see that Kusanagi had moved closer to him, kneeling in front him now, face only a few inches apart. His eyes were narrowed seriously, mouth a thin line again. He reached over, closing the laptop in Yusaku’s lap, and the teen didn’t bother stopping him from taking it. The older man waited for a moment, the laptop between his hands, now speaking for a moment as they stared at each other. When he did speak his voice was calm and even, held together by twine, but held together nevertheless. “Promise me you won’t go looking for that stuff?”

“I…” His voice still isn’t working right. He doesn’t know if he’ll keep that promise if he makes it, but he also just can’t find actual words. 

“Promise me.” Kusanagi’s voice cracks, and his hands shake just a little bit, “You don’t...you deserve _better_ than that Yusaku.”

His hands have moved the laptop away, placing it on the floor. The older man moves to grip his shoulders now, blunt nails digging through the school uniform. Only now does Yusaku realize that he never took off Shima’s jacket from over his head. But that doesn’t matter, because it does little to shield him from the intensity of Kusanagi’s gaze. “You deserve better than that Yusaku.”

He knows, objectively, that Kusanagi must care about him a little. They’ve worked together long enough, been each other’s only allies for the better part of two years now, saved each other a few times in that period. But he’s not used to that being open knowledge. They’ve never talked about it. Neither of them have ever said things like ‘I care about you’ or ‘I want you to be okay’. Yusaku isn’t even entirely sure what they are anymore. There was no need for allies after Dr. Kogami’s death, but he still found himself at Cafe Nagi every day out of sheer habit. And Kusanagi seemed to always expect him to be there. 

‘ _What are we_?’ He wants to ask, but his words are still failing him. Because he’s not used to being openly cared for by someone, or being touched, or having someone fuss over him. The teen feels a whole flurry of emotions trembling inside of him, but he doesn’t know what else to say or do. So he just nods, struggling to voice a quiet and strangled, “Alright.”

Kusanagi visibly sighs in relief, his whole body untensing, and it’s the first time his lips twitched upwards for even a moment since this conversation started. It looks like he’s shed years of age with that one word. “Thank you.”

Yusaku doesn’t know what to say to that.

“I’ll...take care of finding out what’s up.” Kusanagi glances at the laptop again, biting his bottom lip, “It’s...that stuff will be bad, enraging even, but I won’t be triggered by it or anything like you would be.”

“Ah.” Yusaku lets out. 

“I’ll...head back upstairs and grab some more stuff.” Kusanagi glances down, his nose wrinkling at the sight of the sleeping back. “I’m going to grab some stuff. Want me to swing by your apartment and grab anything? Something to keep you entertained?”

Yusaku doesn’t bother telling Kusanagi he doesn’t have anything to keep himself entertained. He has sought entertainment in a long time. The only thing he has in his apartment that could possibly grab is more food and Roboppy. Instead he shakes his head, “...it’s not...safe…”

“Shit, you’re right.” Kusanagi curses, wrinkling his nose again. “I’ll skip your apartment then. I’ll have to pick something up from a store or something.”

“It’s not safe.” He repeats, hoping the man understands so he doesn’t have to keep summoning the energy for words to explain his meaning.

Luckily, Kusanagi has a good understanding of Yusaku, “Don’t worry, I’m a lot more inconspicuous than you. I can keep my head down and grab some more stuff from a couple of shops, keep an ear out on gossip. People won’t recognize me right away, so it should be fine.”

Well, Yusaku isn’t going to stop him if he really wants to go, even if he thinks the risk is unnecessary. So he just nods, energy already spent. “Alright.”

“Good, want anything in particular?” The man asks, standing up and patting his pockets, “Snacks? A book? Anything?”

“Make sure to turn off your cell phone.” Yusaku warns him, “And take out the sim card.”

“Forgot about that.” Kusanagi whinces, scratching the back of his neck again, “I’ll do that while I’m grabbing us some stuff. You okay here by yourself for a bit?”

  
No.

“Yes.” He nods, not sharing that as soon as the man leaves this room he’ll be alone in a dark room made of stone, left here with nothing but his own thoughts. Stuck in a room again, but this time one of his own choosing.

He really, really, hadn’t thought this safe-house through.

“Right.” Kusanagi nods, giving him one last look over and turning on his heel, sending a wave over his shoulder, “I’ll be back in an hour or two.”

He’s gone then, leaving Yusaku alone in the yellow lit room. It’s immediately quiet, the creaking door solid metal and thick enough that he can’t hear Kusanagi’s retreating footsteps. The teen doesn’t hesitate to pull his knees towards himself, hugging them to his chest and burying his face into them, letting out a shuttered breath as he’s left with nothing but his thoughts.

Deep breaths. One, two, three.

Three things he knows. One, the Lost Incident and all involved, including but not limited to the victims involved have been exposed. Two, it is very, very, likely that subsequent reports from his time before he cleared his public records and disappeared are also exposed. Foster parents, Dr. Lecter, doctors appointments and his per-erased medical and school records. Three, it’s almost certain that every last one of the people that have ever been involved are about to be interviewed on talk shows.

_Fuck_.

This is the kind of thing people make reaction videos to. This is the kind of thing that people make documentaries about. It wasn’t even two months ago that this was happening to the lower tier knights of Hanoi. And now this? He can already picture the outcry. People wondering if those lower tier knights knew. People wondered if the doctors and therapists knew.

Yusaku feels like he might vomit when he pictures reporters visiting Dr. Lecter in his prison cell to ask about his time as Yusaku’s therapist. Or worse, Baira. Or, well, Taki. She was one of the main scientist involved with his torture. And where he knows Dr. Lecter has his own set of morals, twisted though they may be, and will keep to doctor-patient confidentiality, he can’t say the same of her. She was one of the ones that sat and watched while he starved and suffered. How long would it take before they tried to interview her?

What justifications would she use?

Who would _agree_ with her?

~~"There will always be monsters who agree." Dr. Lecter warns, hands curled against his arm rest. "Most of the world will not, but there is a core evil in this world. Those scientists were such people. Their benefit was worth more to them then your suffering."~~

That makes him double over. His stomach twists, and he can’t keep the sickness in his body anymore. He stands, hand clamped over his mouth, and is just able to make it towards the sewage water outside before emptying his stomach. 

The cleaning bots beep around him, turning to watch out of their programmed concern before determining he’s not dying and flying away. Yusaku kneels there, hands and knees on filthy stone, emptying his stomach while he’s hiding in a sewer. And somehow this isn’t the lowest point in his life, which is just sad.

He’s pathetic. 

Pushing himself up, his stomach lurches one last time, but he’s able to keep from vomiting again. He whips his lips, grimacing at the filth now on his sleeve. His mouth tastes foul, and it’s another thing he hadn’t expected to have to deal with. Next time he’ll have to pack some mints to go with his food supplies. 

“Three breaths.” He mutters to himself. Only to realize he’s still in the sewer when he tries to take a deep breath. He chokes on the air, coughs, and immediately regrets his entire life and all his choices. Barely any time has passed since he’d fled school and he’s already losing his cool.

“Calm down.” He orders himself, trying to force himself into compliance. His hands feel clammy, and his mouth still tastes like vomit, but he’s able to force himself to go back towards his setup and lay on the sleeping bag, making sure to shed his jacket. The bag doesn’t do anything to make the floor more comfortable, but it’s better than nothing. And laying down does help a little. 

Three things, three reasons to calm down.

One, Kusanagi doesn’t deserve to come back to Yusaku having a breakdown. Two, if Yusaku has a breakdown while he’s all alone it would be bad. Three, he can’t let this beat him, not after everything he’s been through.

Yusaku exhales.

Right, he can’t let this beat him. He has to get to work. He has to do something useful while he’s down here. Something distracting. Something that wasn’t to do with the network because Kusanagi made him promise. 

He can only really think of one thing.

Reaching into his pocket, he feels for his forgotten phone. He hasn’t removed the sim card yet, and it will only take a few seconds, but it’s something to help. He taps the class screen, watching as it light bright and blue, illuminating the room better than the old light-bulbs in the ceiling. 

There’s no signal down here, but Yusaku can see several messages from before he’d descended. He frowns, not recognizing any of the missed numbers in his call log. Then again, he only has Kusanagi and his school as contacts. Well, and Shima after the boy got his hands on the phone once, but he very obviously hasn’t called.

He reaches up, flicking away the missed calls warnings and opening his messages.

  
  
**Number Unknown:**   
  
_Playmaker, you need to leave wherever you are and find somewhere safe. Contact me when you’ve found somewhere. Don’t ask questions, just do it._

  
  


Yusaku blinks, reading over the message several times before finally sitting up, his eyes wide. It’ couldn’t be…not after two months of silence. He almost half expected to never see him again. “Ryouken.”

Suddenly much more invested, he goes to the next message.

  
  


**Number Unknown:**

_I’m coming back to land as soon as possible, I will contact you when I’ve reached port. Contact me to let me know you’ve made it somewhere safe._

_Playmaker, contact me._

_Playmaker, this is serious, do not ignore me._

_If you’ve seen the news you’ll know very well that this is a very serious situation, I do not have time for games. Respond immediately._

_Playmaker?_

_Answer me._

_If you’ve been captured by someone, I will never forgive you._

_Nevermind, I’ll track you down myself._

  
  
  


Yusaku frowns down at the phone, eyes flickering back to the empty bars, mocking his lack of signal. If he wanted to respond he’d have to walk a mile to the nearest manhole and crawl up the ladder into the park during a time when school would be getting out and everyone would start checking their messages.

Great, fantastic, Ryouken was certainly going to be incredibly patient. Especially with the messages he’d received before he crawled down here. He doesn’t even want to imagine what he’d been sent after his signal was cut off.

He hoped that Kusanagi wasn’t blown up with messages. Assuming that Ryouken remembered his ally and bothered to hack his phone and steal his number. Which, he can’t imagine the boy didn’t do if he went through all this effort to contact him. Yusaku felt a pang of pity for the man, not sure how the boy behind Revolver would respond to all of this, much less what he planned to do next. 

Yusaku could only hope whatever it is, it’s nothing like his last plan, which involved mass murder and the extinction of a sentient species.

A cold wash rolls through him as he remembers that Ai would also be exposed by this. Against his will the worry fills him, making him sick all over again. 

“Ai.” He tries to feel the AI through the connection he has to the network. He feels something tug back, but it’s incredibly weak, his location leaving the world glitching only a little. “Ai, I’m safe, so you stay safe too.”

He feels something in his mind, if felt like reassurance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to call this chapter "Ryouken and The Harsh Realities Of Living On A Boat With Three Other Men Right After His Father Died". I looked up what the inside of yachts look like, and they're pretty nice. But sharing one between four people, at least one of whom is in grief for multiple reasons, isn't gonna be fun. Especially since Ryouken's boat isn't very big for a yacht. 
> 
> He's got a lot of conflicting emotions I'm going to drag out of him kicking and screaming.
> 
> But look at Yusaku, actually feeling emotions and shit! What a champion. He's come so far.
> 
> Leaving Yusaku alone wasn't cool, but hey, he wasn't gonna open up anyway. He's an emotional lock. Next chapter we gonna see he world on fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiirrrrrrrrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeee. 
> 
> No, really, I'm taking you top side next chapter and it's going to go about as well as you're all expecting.


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

**Mokita** (Kivila): The truth everyone knows but agrees not to talk about.

* * *

Kusanagi is able to make it all the way to the park before he falls apart.

Not two seconds out of the manhole and his phone is already buzzing in his pocket, but he ignores it, too angry to speak to anyone right now. 

He scrambles onto the grassy ground, crawling away from the sewer entrance and onto his feet. Not seconds later his fists hit the nearest tree, the bark nicking the skin and leaving the side of his palms bleeding slightly as he kicked and cursed. The swears leaving his lips could make a sailor blush, but he doesn’t give a shit. And he doesn’t hold back, kicking that tree over and over again into his leg is too tired and his foot aching too much to keep going, then he lets out a frustrated yell, tugging large chunks of his hair, and kicks one more time.

Even after all of that the rage and frustration just boils under his skin more, and he doesn’t think it’s going away at all. Emotional release his _ass_. He’s only more angry now, left with nothing but bleeding knuckles and throbbing feet to show for his little outburst.

_Fuck_ SOLteach.

It wasn’t enough that they’d ruined his life, was it? It wasn’t enough that Jin could barely function in his hospital room. It wasn’t enough Yusaku had been emotionally numb and self-destructive. It wasn’t enough that they had destroyed his parent’s marriage and left him alone to take care of his broken, traumatized, brother. It wasn’t enough that the lives of so many people were ruined. They just had to take more. 

With an enraged snarl he punches the tree again, not giving a shit about his bloodied knuckles, or what other people will think if they see him. Fuck em, because of them he’ll never know a moment of peace again. 

Why couldn’t SOLtech just let them move on? Wasn’t it enough? Hadn’t they been through enough? Ten years after everything and they were just starting to get their lives back together. Jin had been doing better than he had in years, and Yusaku had finally found the closure he needed to move on and stop self-destructing and start _living_ again. 

They were supposed to finally be able to move on.

That’s all he can think as he curses and stomps his feet and throws a damned tantrum right there on the lawn. He’s acting like a preteen brat that didn’t get their way, but fuck it, he doesn’t care, his life was ruined. _Again_.

His ears are ringing with stress and his vision is red. He can’t breathe through all the frothing rage. So he stops beating trees with his now mutilated looking hand and just cursing the sky, not caring who hears him.

By the time he’s done he’s nothing but a bag-eyed, sweaty, trembling, bloodied knuckled mess. His hair is a tangled mess, and he looks like he’d gotten run over by his food truck. His whole body aches from the abuse he just put it through, and he curses as he holds his hand up to study, cursing himself for his own stupidity. There was no way someone as observant as Yusaku wasn’t going to notice he’d fucked up his hand so bad. Fuck. He’ll have to buy some bandages and patch it up before he heads back down.

“ _Fuck_.” He curses one last time, becoming more aware of the world as his rage...doesn’t calm down, exactly, but becomes more manageable. He’s regaining his composure, at any rate, and now he just feels tired and embarrassed on top of his anger. “Fuck.”

If there was anyone around to see his little tantrum before, they’re all gone now. Probably fleeing the crazy man that crawled out of a sewer and started beating up trees and yelling profanities. Flushing deeply, he pulls his jacket more tightly around himself, adjusting his baseball cap to better hide his face. 

“Just calm down Kusanagi.” He scolded himself, shoving his battered hands into his jacket pockets, moving forward and forcing himself to start walking, “Yusaku is counting on you.”  
  


That’s right, he’s the adult in the situation. Young adult or no, he’s an adult. He’s _the_ only adult in their lives. Or, at least, the only one that matters. He’s the one that’s been the adult in the situation for a long, long, time. And because he’s the adult here and he can’t afford to break down, not when he has two kids that are counting on him to keep it together.

He can’t break down, not when he has one kid sheltered in the hospital and another on the edge of a fucking panic attack in a sewer. 

A fucking _sewer_ , by god. He was going to have to find something else fast because he was not letting Yusaku stay down there for even one night. He doesn’t care how long the kid has been planning to hide away down there, he’s not letting him. No way. That place can’t be good for him.

“Calm down Kusanagi.” He mutters to himself, hands still in his pockets and heart pounding against his chest, “Keep your cool. Yusaku is waiting for you to hurry up with the shit.”

He shouldn’t have left Yusaku alone down there at all, but he was about ten seconds away from losing it and he is not going to fall apart on the kid. He’s an adult, he has to be the one to keep it together, and that kid has been through enough. He and Jin both need a stable adult in their life for when shit like this happens, so he couldn’t stay there, he couldn’t fall apart on Yusaku.

He won’t let himself fall apart in front of Yusaku.

He’ll never let himself fall apart in front of either of them. Not Jin, not Yusaku. He’s going to be strong for them no matter what. He doesn’t care about anything else, those two are the last people he’ll ever unload his baggage onto. He doesn’t give a _shit_ what anyone else says or thinks, he won’t allow himself to ever break down in front of them. He’ll do it anywhere else, in front of anyone else, but not in front of them. _Never_.  
  


So it doesn’t matter how much he just wants to curl up into a ball and take a nap, or huddle into a corner and weep bitter tears, or howl into the sky at the injustice of it all. Right now his kids need him to keep it together, so he’s going to pick himself up, get his ass to a store, get the shit Yusaku is going to need to fight off the panic attack that’s inevitably coming, and calm the fuck down.

“You’ve got a kid to take care of, Kusanagi.” He whispers to himself. It’s a familiar sentence, one that’s kept him going the last ten years. It’s the one sentence that’s been keeping him moving despite the hopelessness, the despair, the anger and frustration. Even when it felt like there was no hope, that’s what kept him going. “He needs you.”

And now one kid is two kids, and that same sentence still applies to both. It’s still keeping him going, one foot in front of the other, anger much more controlled. “He needs you.”

Through taking care of Jin, through cutting off his parents, through opening a business all on his own, through finding Yusaku, through the Knights of Hanoi and all the fear and regret that came with watching a kid tear himself apart hunting his abusers and the guilt that came with enabling him, through Revolver’s identity as another fucking kid, through Kogami’s unsatisfying death, through knowing Jin’s and Yusaku’s abusers skirted justice. He’ll stay strong through it all, has stayed strong through it all, and the only words he needed to hear were that one sentence. “He needs you.”

So he walks, ready to do his job.

* * *

  
  
Akira’s hands are shaking.

His office has never felt so oppressive, his desk feeling more like a prison despite its size and spacious layout. The lights are no different, and the room isn’t overloaded, but everything about it feels different. He purposely has his emails on mute, all alerts going ignored even as he watches the number of notifications steadily climb in the corner of his monitor. He swallows thickly, violet eyes stuck on those numbers as they peer over his intertwined fingers. A poor attempt to hide their shaking.

Outside the window of his office he can see the employees rushing in a panic. He dreads to think what his employers are doing now, what is being demanded of the employees. He dreads to think of what the employees are refusing to do. Not all of them are working, he can tell that from here. Some of them are very clearly vandalizing the building. He can see it from here. They’re throwing things, and breaking monitors, and one man even has spray paint.

He should stop them, it’s his job to stop them.

He won’t, he can’t.

So he sits there, fingers crossed, trying to hide his shaking hands as his attention shifts between the crawling notifications and the rioting employees. He’s already typed up his statement, a ten page long confirmation of the information, an explanation of his lack of knowledge regarding the experiment until the attack by the knights of Hanoi, a public apology to the victims and plead to the citizens of Den City not to harass them, and, finally, his own resignation to the company.

It took him less than an hour to type, and yet he still sat here, terrified to publish it.  
  


No one else in SOLtech has been able to publish anything as of yet. If he posts his statement now he’ll be the first high ranking SOLtech member to do so. And he can also stop any attempts by his superiors to deny or twist this information in their favor, thus giving the victims of the Hanoi Project some semblance of justice. Not only that, but he can somewhat end his career gracefully, sinking with SOLtech with some sense of dignity. 

But he’s terrified to click the post button.

He knows he needs to, he knows all he has to do is click. But the moment he posts his statement is the moment it’s all over. Everything he’s worked for since he was only sixteen. The life he’d built for himself, his respectable career, everything he’d wanted to give Aoi. It would all be over the moment he posted, and he isn’t ready for that. He’ll never be ready for that.

But it was already over, wasn’t it?

SOLtech can fight tooth and nail, but there’s nothing they can do to save themselves from this. Not without doing something truly terrible or twisting the information so badly that they could ruin those victim’s lives. Akira could stand by a lot of things, but he doesn’t think he could stand by that. Not when there were children involved. Not when he knew two of the children involved. 

His eyes slip shut, the faces of the fourth and sixth victims haunting him. 

How was it that Aoi’s little friend and the boy that had charted her to the hospital only a month ago were connected in such a painful way? Why were such innocent, good, people forced through something so terrible?

Akira had been curious as to the identities of the children when he learned of the horrifying experimentation, of course he was, but he’d been respectful enough not to dig anymore into the matter. Both out of respect for the victim’s themselves, and remorse for what he’d done to Playmaker in his rage. And, privately, he had determined he didn’t want to know, because it was easier to overlook SOLtech’s involvement when the victims did not truly have a face. Then he could work in peace, work towards changing the company for the better. 

It was harder when they had faces.

It was harder when he _knew_ a few of those faces.

He can’t imagine what they’re going through right now. 

He’s already called Aoi and warned her, even giving her permission to leave school early. Actually, he’d all but demanded it of her. He even sent a car for her because he was so terrified of what people would do to her in their unthinking rage. Then he called asking for Fujiki only to learn he’d already fled the building. The sheer fear Akira felt for the boy was…

He hopes that Fujiki had somewhere to hide. Apparently he hadn’t returned home since he’d fled, and the man could only hope that whatever connections the boy had were enough for what was to come. If nothing else Akira had enough money saved to help shelter the boy.

If he’d even trust Akira. 

Akira wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t.

Gods, how was Aoi taking the news? One of the victims was her childhood friend, and another was a classmate that had helped her during one of the most painful moments of her life. How was she supposed to accept this?

How would she accept that he was working for the company that did this to them?

That thought makes him open his eyes again, his hands still shaking as he reaches for the mouse. He’s still shaking even as he moves the clicker over the button, the adrenaline pumping heavy through his veins and breath falling short. His arms feel as if they’re made of lead, and his breath hitches when he finally clicks.

He falls back against the chair after, breath leaving him as he slumps against the seat, “Oh god.”  
  


There’s no saying how long he languished there is disbelief, wondering if he’d made a terrible mistake. However long he lay there, it was enough time for Hayami to burst through the door, panic written all over her face, “Mr. Zaizen, it’s terrible!”  
  


“I know.” He forces himself up, rubbing his forehead. He looks her over, taking in her frazzled appearance and disheveled hair, her smudged make-up and panicked face, and wonders if he’ll ever see her again. “I’ve had to silence calls from the board.”

“Wh-What?” Hayami stutters, cupping her own face, “B-But you can’t just ignore the board! Mr. Zaizen, th-they could fire you! Don’t you realize they’re not playing around right now? Everything is a mess right now!”  
  


“They can’t fire me, Hayami.” Akira sighs, pushing himself back from his desk and standing, feeling the exhaustion even now, but unwilling to leave this company without at least a little dignity. “I’ve already resigned and made my public statement condemning SOLtech for their actions.”

Hayami’s face went paler than a corpse’s, her mouth falling open in shock and eyes going wide. Her hands twist around themselves, and gasps for breath several times before she finally manages to choke out words, “B-But Mr. Zaizen! What are we supposed to do without you? You can’t leave! SOLtech…”

“They _tortured children_ , Hayami.” He’s too tired to deny it or justify anything. He’s too tired to think about the future, or what will happen next. He just wants to leave before the worst comes to worst. “I can’t excuse that. It’s vile, it’s disgusting, I want no more part of it. I’m going to leave while I still have some dignity. I suggest you do the same, Hayami.”

“B-But…” The young woman is shaking now, tears building in her eyes, “Mr. Zaizen, if you leave I...we’ll...what will you do? Will I ever see you again?”

“I don’t know what I’ll do.” He sighs, moving round his desk and towards the door, “But whatever it is, it won’t be here.”

He walks out the door then, leaving her behind, ignoring her protests. He’s no longer her employer, nor is he any longer affiliated with SOLtech. If they want to clean up this mess, then they will do it without him. He won’t support any company that would hurt Aoi in such a way. 

All around him his former employees are in chaos, half trying to topple the building and the other half trying to stop the madness. He gives them little regard, even the ones that geer at him, demanding to know what he knew of the situation. They’ll read his statement soon, and he has no more words to express his feelings, nor any more to defend himself. All he can do is try to make it home unharmed and comfort Aoi. 

That and begin looking for a new career, of course. With hope a man of his reputation can find something reputable even with his now past connections to SOLtech. He very much hopes he doesn’t have to move, while he’s confident he would like places like Heartland or Neo Domino, Den City is beautiful, and what’s more it’s his home, he’d hate to have to leave it behind. 

  
He’d also miss Ema, a shame he’s likely to never see her again. He doubts he’ll have the funds to keep hiring her for a good while.

Though he may extend the effort to hire her to track down and help him cover for Fujiki, if enough time passes without him being spotted. He was, after all, an orphan. Someone would need to watch out for him. It was the least he could do for the poor boy. And, perhaps, he could use Ema to make contact with Aoi’s little friend? 

Or, perhaps, he could do it himself? He’s still a skilled hacker himself, after all, and his own services were cheaper than hiring her. Perhaps, then, he could take matters into his own hands? If SOLtech was falling, then someone would have to step up to fill the hole it left behind. Ethically this time. 

It was an ambitious idea, but if he’s the only one that can be trusted to take over the reigns without endangering the victims left behind by his former employers then what else could he do. Perhaps, then, when he’s done comforting Aoi he can rally the rightfully enraged workers of SOLtech together and form a new company? 

It was worth a try, at the very least.  
  


* * *

  
Right now Takeru is on a train.

His heart is pounding in his chest, and his hands feel clammy. Even hiding in this thick jacket with his hoodie up and a pair of shades on doesn’t make him feel safe, no matter how much Kiku says it’s hiding him. 

Speaking of Kiku, she’s wrapped around his arm, her eyes shifting this way and that. She’s at least as paranoid as he is, maybe even more. She’s like some kind of eagle eyed bodyguard right now, and every time someone even so much as looks at them her eyes are set on them. She keeps shifting in front of him more and more, practically shielding him with her whole body.

He doesn’t know where they’re even going, they hadn’t thought of that when they’d run away from their home town. All he’d cared about at the time was getting away from all the whispering and the staring and the apologies. All he’d known was that he had to go.

But now he doesn’t know where he’s going or what to do. 

“Kiku.” He’s trying to stay calm, he really is. He’s already punched out three assholes today. But he can’t punch anyone else, no matter how much he wants to, because then people will know who he is, and Kiku says that’d be bad because reporters were starting to show up at his grandparent’s house. “Where are we going?”

His childhood friend glances up at him, biting her lip, eyebrows all screwed together. She looks stressed, probably as stressed as he is. “I don’t know yet.”

_Great_. 

Takeru tries to breath, because panicking right now probably isn’t a good idea. But he really wishes he knew where the fuck he was going. He really, really, does. They need a plan, but plans are something he sucks at. No, seriously, they’re something he really sucks at. Kiku is the planner between the two of them, but even she doesn’t know what to do and that...that wasn’t good.

“Fuck.” He knows that Kiku doesn’t like it when he swears, but he can’t help it. This is one of the worst situations he’d ever been in, and he hasn’t heard from his grandparents in hours, and they don’t have a plan, and he doesn’t know where he’s going. All they’ve got are the clothes they were wearing when they bailed, and very little money outside of that. 

Well, he’s got his neglected duel disk too, because for some reason he has some kind of sick attachment to this beat up thing.

He tsks, picking up his arm and glaring at the duel disk, using it as a scapegoat for his anger, “You got any ideas, asshole?”

Then a tiny little face appeared out of his duel disk, “Actually, I do.”

Maybe he shouldn’t have screamed quite so loud, or flapped his arm like there was a monster eating it, but he thinks that it was the normal reaction.

* * *

His mother is alive.

  
  
Ryouken never knew that.

Granted, he’s never even seen a picture of the woman, or known more about her than her first name, but he’d always assumed that was a result of grief. He’d always assumed his father was overcome by despair, that the very memory of her was too much for his heart to take, and that the grief was too overwhelming for him. That even the mere memory of her was enough to wreck him to his very _soul_ , and that was the reason there wasn’t so much as a picture of her in their household. Surely, Ryouken had determined when he was a child, that was why his father is paralyzed by questions of her. Surely, he had thought, that’s why he asked Ryouken to forget her.

So he did, and he soon decided that, whoever she was, she was a smart, beautiful, _amazing_ woman for someone as brilliant as his father to fall in love with her. Then he let that fantasy build, crafting a perfect mother in his head, and never bothered to change it. Even when he’d grown old enough to dig for information on her himself he’d never bothered, because he already knew enough. And besides, his father had asked him not to, and he’s already betrayed him enough.

But now he knows something about her, a lot of things about her, against his will. Completely on accident. Because of leaks. 

His mother is alive. Not dead. Alive. She’s alive and living in Neo-Domino city as a mechanic. She was, apparently, the first person to try to expose his father and SOLtech for the Hanoi Project, a full six years before it became a reality. He’d been two at the time when she’d tried to expose his father and warn people of the plans she’d somehow stumbled upon. Unfortunately for her, she was just a mechanic in SOLtech’s lower tier of employees, and his father was a respectable man with a powerful company behind him.

It’s one of the first things you’ll find in the leaks. His parents messy, bitter, divorce detailed in painful accuracy. Right down to the smear campaign against his mother, painting her as a crazed, attention seeking, emotional abuser. It ended, predictable, with her getting a restraining chip requiring her to stay at least five hundred feet away from her ex-husband and child, with the chip activating and sending a signal to the police if she was even an inch too close. 

Ryouken hadn’t even known he had a restraining chip.

Maybe it should be sad that the most he’s ever learned about his mother is from a giant leak exposing his family’s actions to the public, but he mostly just feels empty.

She’s not brilliant, over beautiful, or graceful. She doesn’t even look particularly kind. The picture of her shows that he mostly got his looks from her; clear blue eyes, lightly tanned skin just a bit darker than his own, grey hair hanging in a loose and actually pretty messy pony-tail. She’s nothing like he imagined. When he imagined her he thought of nice dresses, pencil skirts, and lab coats. Like a mother from a fairy-tale. But in reality she dresses like him, with v-neck shirts and loose jackets and jeans. Only hers looked cheap.

The article doesn’t detail anything about her other than her involvement in trying to expose his father and subsequent relocation. He’s not sure if he’d even want to know. He feels numb when he reads about her here.

A smear campaign. His mother had tried to expose his father and gotten exactly what someone would expect from such a thing. 

Well, at least now Ryouken knows where he gets his traitor blood from.

He sighs, irritated, leaving the leaks for a moment to compose himself. He’s only read the first quarter so far and his head is already pounding. He languishes back on the couch, wishing the boat would move faster so he could find Yusaku and get him the hell out of whatever hole he’d decided to crawl himself into.

Why wasn’t Yusaku answering him? Didn’t he know Ryouken detested waiting.

Across from him, Aso was wringing his hands, looking pale as death and sitting stiffly in the equally white chair. “Dear god.”

“God isn’t on your side, Dr. Aso.” Spectre hummed, languishing back on his own chair as he read through the leaks himself. He was probably much, much, further in than Ryouken was, if only because he was a master and kept aloof in situations like this. Spectre never did much care for the world, and he didn’t seem to care about the leaks outside of how they inconvenienced Ryouken himself, which was a little fucked, actually, and didn’t do anything but add another pang of guilt because it was an obvious sign of just how messed up Spectre was by all of this, his coping going so far that he’s convinced himself to go numb. Ryouken doesn’t want to even think of what the other boy would do if he ever died or went to jail, because Spectre has competently hinged his mental health on a piece of shit like him.

“My sister is never going to speak to me again.” Aso breathed, staring out into the distance, still in shock over what happened. 

“And she would be right not to.” Spectre answered as he scrolled through the files.

“We shouldn’t be going back to Den City at all.” Dr. Gerome looked down from where he was monitoring the steering wheel. The boat was on auto-pilot, but he didn’t seem to care. He was actually handling the leaks very well, keeping himself emotionally distant and thinking practically, “Being barred from family and the scientific community will be the least of our problems if we return. We’re safer out at sea.”

“Taki is in prison.” Aso blinked, still staring out into space, “She’s alone and vulnerable.”

“We’ll all be in prison if we go back.” Gerome rolled his eyes, turning to face Ryouken, “Enlighten me as to why we’re doing this again? We’re most certainly not going to be able to rescue Taki now, she’s probably being transported to a maximum security cell for interrogation as we speak.”

The truth was he hadn’t even thought of Kyoko when he decided to turn the boat around. Playmaker had failed to respond to his texts and the next thing he’d known he was turning the boat around and heading back for the city.

What was he even _doing_?

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t have an actual plan. What was he going to do? Kidnap Yusaku again? Shove him on an already overcrowded boat filled to the brim with the people who either abused him or assisted his abusers in trying to destroy him? Subject what was left of his family to the boy that ruined their plans and was responsible for killing his father however indirectly? 

_~~Except they’re not what’s left, because apparently he has a mother out there who isn’t allowed to see him.~~ _

Ryouken doesn’t have a plan. This was never supposed to happen. No one was ever supposed to know. But now it was all out in the open, leaked to every single SOLtech employee and every Vrain’s avatar’s inbox. The faces of every single one of the test subjects and all the doctors involved put on display for the world to see. The only one who even had been spared in all this was Ryouken himself, funnily enough, whose only mention in all this was a brief two sentences. His father winning custody of him and getting a restraining chips for him against his mother, a brief mention that he was in the custody of Dr. Aso during his father’s three year imprisonment by SOLtech. There wasn’t even a picture of him.

No mention of his role as Revolver, no mention of his keeping his father alive for the last seven years, nothing. 

Once again he was on the sidelines, watching everything fall apart while he scrapped by without consequence. He would laugh at the injustice of it all, but he’s too angry and frustrated to do even that. It just figures, doesn’t it? A piece of shit like him is getting off free as a bird while the others are all thrown under the rug.

“You don’t have to leave the boat.” Ryouken finally answers Gerome. “You’d all be recognized on sight. You’ll wait and I’ll go.”

“Absolu-” Aso starts before cutting himself off, realizing his place.

Spectre, however, is more tactful. “I insist you not go alone, if anything were to happen…”

“Everyone knows your faces, mine is the only one not on full display.” Ryouken doesn’t want to argue, and his temper is short, and he is so tired. “You’re staying.”

“If I may ask; what are you going to do?” Gerome adjusts his glasses, “Logic dictates we not return to Den City, we’re not low on supplies, we can’t break Taki out, and there’s nothing you can do scouring the city that we can’t find out from the internet on this boat.”

He’s right. Ryouken knows it, and Gerome knows it, and Germome knows that Ryouken knows he’s right. And, Ryouken suspects, Gerome knows exactly what the answer is as to what he wants to return to Den City for, but isn’t about to say it. Nor is he willing to protest. None of them are. It’s an open secret, and the shame of it burns him. He’d thought he’d hidden it well, but these men have known him for at least a decade, one of them was in the hospital with his father when he was bor-

“Why didn’t you tell me my mother was alive?” He finds himself asking without meaning to, turning on Aso. He doesn’t mean to sound angry, because that’s not what he was angry over at all. His mother is the least important thing to him right now, nothing more than the donor of all his worst genetics, but he comes off that way because he is angry about everything else.

  
Aso pales further, somehow, his hands dropping to grip the armrests, fingers digging into the soft leather harshly, “I...well...did you need to know? You never asked, and I assumed your father explained that particularly nasty situation.”

“No.” Is Ryouken’s flat answer.

“Oh.” Aso swallows, fingers still digging, “It was a...very dreadful situation, you understand. And your father likely didn’t want you to hear all the vile details. She threatened to never let him even see you when the divorce was-”

“She tried to paint your father as a psychopath, tried to take you with her when she was throwing her fit, she failed and lost the rights to you instead, the end.” Gerome pinched the bridge of his nose. “Does it actually matter? She didn’t have a hand in raising you.”

It doesn’t, it doesn’t have anything to do with the situation. She made a choice and it cost her, just like Ryouken had done. The difference between the two of them was Ryouken was trying to make up for it and simply failing at every turn. So he shrugs, turning his attention to Spectre, who was watching this all with that mild expression of his.

He knows. He knows very well why they’re going back. He knows more than either of the two adults in the room. Of the three men in the room, Spectre is the one that’s spent the most time with him over the years. He’s the one that most knows of the debts of Ryouken’s particular obsessions. Probably more than Ryouken is aware of, because apparently he’s worse at hiding his obsessions than he’d thought, and he dreads to think just how painfully aware the boy must be.

He scolds, turning away, “It doesn’t.”

They can stay on the boat, and he can find Yusaku, and then…

He’ll figure it out from there. Fuck, he’ll buy another boat if that’s what it takes.

…

Now there’s an idea…

* * *

**Bonus** :

_**Playmaker’s Identity Revealed? The Shocking Story Behind The Internet’s Most Famous Hero.** _   
  
  


_For months Vrain’s fans, celebrities, SOLtech personnel, and entertainment duelist alike have all marveled of the mysterious vigilante Playmaker, who seemingly showed up out of nowhere one day and proceed to duel his way through history’s most dangerous cyber-terrorist, the Knights of Hanoi._   
  
_Over the course of a single month, Playmaker captured the hearts of Vrain’s fans everywhere, proving himself to be not only an incredible duelist, but a noble hero as well. Grabbing the attention of the likes of Blue Angel and Go Onizuka, he dueled his way to the top, and eventually would be the man to save thousands of lives from the villainous intentions of Revolver and his knights. Defeating the terrorist in a duel and seemingly destroying the tower meant to destroy the internet as we know it, and essentially lobotomized everyone logged into the network at the time._

_And then he disappeared, leaving thousands of devoted fans to wonder what happened to their mysterious hero._

_For a time, it seemed we would never find an answer. Playmaker has remained unseen since the fall of the Knights of Hanoi, with many believing that he would never return now that his mysterious mission is done. But, with the most recent and shocking announcements in Vrains, it is now widely believed that we have finally found out not only the reason behind Playmaker's actions, but also his identity._

_By now everyone in Vrains has seen the infamous leaks regarding SOLtech, the Knights of Hanoi, and their inhumane experimentation on six innocent children, ages six to seven. The gruesome actions told in horrifying detail._

_But, among these horrifying details, we believe something may have been unearthed. The identity of the famous Playmaker._

_Victim number six, Fujiki Yusaku of Den City High, seems to bear a striking resemblance to the Vrains hero. From the eyes to the facial features, there’s no denying in our eyes that the avatar was at least inspired by the boy. Could it be, we wonder, that Playmaker is either related to, or in fact is, Fujiki Yusaku?_   
  
_The motivation would fit; a tragic victim of terrible human experimentation identifying and fighting back against his abusers and thus saving the lives of thousands. This reporter is, frankly, convinced._

_As of now Fujiki has yet to be spotted since the news dropped several hours ago, but this reporter is on the hunt!_   
  


_Until the next update._   
  
_With love, your favorite news vlogger and blogger,_   
  


_TheTattleTale(V)Blogger_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sup guys, don't mind me, just adding a little reinforcement to this filler chapter. Just that itty-bitty bit of worldbuilding and Headcanoning before getting back to the story.
> 
> Because plot.
> 
> Anyway, I'll just skate on by, wishing that I was nicer to these people. Don't mine meeeeeeeee.
> 
> #ThatFeelWhenEveryoneWantsToKidnapYu(saku)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Angry/Frustrated sexual content for Ryouken.

* * *

**L’appel du vide** (French): Literally translated to “the call of the void”; contextually used to describe the instinctive urge to jump from high places.

* * *

Vodka isn’t Queen’s usual brand of sin, but when the occasion calls for something stronger than wine it's a finer taste than whiskey.

She reclines in her chair, one leg crossed over the other, twirling the ice around her glass absentmindedly as she watches the monitors with a certain level of perfectly controlled apathy. Or so she would have her board members believe. In truth she’s seething with rage, barely controlling the urge to take the nearest man in the building and slam his head against the edge of a table. 

But she couldn’t do that, because that would be a sign of weakness. She would not risk losing her calm over something so petty. So, like all things in life, she kept cool, back in straight and rigid. So long as she didn’t lose her sense of control then it was fine. 

Lifting her glass for a sip, the vodka burns all the way down. She clicks the ice against the glass, enjoying the sound and cold comfort of having liquid sin in her hands before letting her eyes trail back to the screens surrounding her. 

When she was a girl her father had a habit of reciting poetry or singing old folk songs as he worked, his favorites involving a world ending in fire, a bit of irony that came from his humble origins as a glassblower, where everything he created came from fire. She used to listen to him, at times, imagining what it was like to be in that world that ended in fire, the flames circling around her and devouring her whole. She supposes that the awe and helplessness she felt imagining such a thing isn’t dissimilar to this, watching the responses to the disaster all over the internet. 

The world really did end in fire, she mused, taking another sip of her vodka. 

Her eyes flickered back to the main monitor, where the image of the six children that were the source of all this madness displayed in front of her. One being of particular interest to her as she studied their faces. 

Truly, the past has a way of coming back to haunt you.

“Pawn.” She held up her glass, side eyeing her assistant, who stood at the edge of the room, the only company she had in her office. The man was a timid thing, and jumped during the rare times she spoke to him. Now he was even more timid, jerking and shaking as he nodded to her. “Do you want to know something no one else knows about me?”

Pawn shuttered fearfully, but knew better than to say a word. Good boy, perhaps he’s not so hopeless as he seems. 

“I’m a mother of three.” She admits, clicking the ice in her glass again, uncrossing her legs and standing. Her heels clicked against the marble floor, the sharp noise ringing through the room as she moved through the holographic screens towards the window, the noise almost drowning out the sharp inhale of Pawn’s breath. 

The sun is setting, lovely hues of gold and red bleeding across the sky. A world on fire, and it’s far more beautiful than she could have ever imagined. 

Who knew falling could feel so intoxicating?

“I’m what you would call a social climber.” She tells him, the vodka swirling around the glass, ice clicking again and again. Her eyes remain firm on the sunset, watching it bleed against the distant ocean, bleeding red into the water as well. Is this rapture? Perhaps. Maybe there’s a god somewhere out there after all, and he’s coming for her now, readying to drag her with chains made of her own sins to hell. “Because I’m from humble origins, you see.”

Pawn said nothing, watching her with those big eyes. 

“My father fronted as a glassblower, my mother was a florist.” She downs her vodka in a single swing, emptying the glass of everything but the ice before flinging the cup across the room, shattering it against the wall. Pawn likely flinched, but she didn’t care for his meger fears. “Do you want to know my real name?”

He gave a shuttering breath.

“Regina Bellefeuille.” She tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, the long dangling earring brushing against the side of her hand. “I grew up in Marseille, France.”

She pauses, eyes flickering to her minion. “Tell me, Pawn, do you know what Regina means?”

He gulps, mutely shaking his head.

“It means _queen_.” She turns away, eyes set on the bleeding sky, “And I knew that was what I was meant to become. A queen. _The_ queen.”

She hadn’t been addressing Pawn directly, but he shuttered anyway, goosebumps likely erupting across his skin as she confessed her sins. Not unlike an unwilling priest, she decides. Then she feels a bit of nostalgia. Her father had been terribly devoted to the church in her youth, though lofty in his attendance. A terrible Catholic, really. 

“So I did whatever it took to become the queen.” She continued her confession coolly, “I studied hard, flirted harder, and sabotaged my competition, letting myself become more and more cutthroat the higher I climbed.” 

Her parents had been good people, her father was still a good man, alone in Marseille, still in that little shop, blowing glass and wondering why his daughter only sends checks and never visits. “I even spread my legs when it gave me the edge I needed.”

Pawn bit his bottom lip.

“My oldest should be about twenty-two now.” Queen turned to him, her heels clicking as she approached him. “Having her got me the promotion I needed to break into the upper levels of corporate. I kept her until I was in a higher position than her father and then dumped her on him and left. Where they are or what they’re doing now is beyond me.”

Pawn’s lips quivers a bit, his brows knitting together. It’s a look of sheer pity, honestly sorry for the daughter she’d left behind.

“I never felt sorry for it, and even now I don’t regret it. I held no love for either.” She confesses the cold truth. She keeps walking, standing in front of Pawn now, her heels making her tall enough to stand over him in height. “My second was a boy. He should be about nineteen now. He was one I had for blackmail, his father was a married man, you see.”

Pawn looks distressed by the news, but even then he refuses to speak.

“I got my promotion and then dropped him off in an orphanage at my discretion. His documents are sealed, and I have a no contact policy with him. The father is still with the woman he was married to. I believe they have two children now. I never told her, as per our agreement.”

Pawn’s hands tighten around themselves, going white knuckled. 

“The last child…” She pauses here, clicking her tongue. Her earrings dangle next to her slim neck. She crosses her arms over her chest, humming as she moves one hand to twirl around one of those earrings. “...tell me, have you ever wondered why there’s no King when the rest of the chess board is here?”

  
  
Pawn paled terribly, the blood draining from his face.

“I managed to marry him.” She clicked her tongue at the memory, twirling that earring around her finger still. “Seduced him with my wit and charm, and no small part of my body, of course.”

She stops twirling that earring then, moving her hands over her breast and down the sides of her hips. Pawn tries to glance away from her, a flush on his cheeks. What an immature man, how he’d ever made it this far when he was so easily flustered was beyond her.

“But I never cared to share, so of course he had to go.” She moves a lock of hair behind her ear again, gaze even on the boy’s face. “No more King on the throne, now it all belonged to the Queen.”

Pawn paled, bloodless again as his mouth fell open in mute horror. 

“That’s where child number three came from.” Her tongue clicked again, arms crossing again and going back to dangling the earring. “A little girl, the apple of her father's eye. His little princess he named after flowers. Just a baby when her father was gone. It made it easy to get rid of her. And, lucky me, King’s real name wasn’t very well known thanks to the chess personas for the company. His paranoia did me well. I got rid of her the same way I got rid of the second one.”

Pawn only shook..

“She’s sixteen now.” Queen paused, eyes flickering back towards the monitor, “Or, well, _he,_ I suppose.”

Pawn risked a glance as well, somehow going even more bloodless now. 

“My father is Catholic.” She confessed to her unwilling priest, “He believes that God exists, and that he has an ironic sense of humor. He always used to warn me that our sins would be what destroyed us, and our world would end in fire for it.”

Pawn risked words for the first time, “God…”

“I never believed in God.” Queen stepped forward, barely an inch away from Pawn’s face now. She stood only an inch taller than him, but she must seem towering to this shaking figure. “But the karmic irony makes me almost believe that not only does he exist, but he’s a trickster. Using my youngest child, the one I worried least about, to destroy me.”

Her words seemed to spark what little courage existed within Pawn, forcing him to draw in a shaky breath before finally whispering. “You’re a _monster_. A stone cold _bitch_ , and you deserve everything you get.”

  
  
“Oh, darling.” She places a hand on his cheek, “I’m not just a bitch. I’m _queen bitch_.”  
  


Then she drops her hand to his chest, pushing him against the wall. He goes easily, back hitting the marble surface, eyes going wide in fear. He should be afraid. He’s physically stronger than her, but he’s also in her realm, and she is not defenseless. She could do anything to him. But she’s in a good mood, so she drops her hand, turning away, heels clicking as she walks away. “That’s why I’m not going to simply lay back and let myself become consumed by fire.”

“What can you do? There’s no way you can come back from this.” Pawn found his tongue again, insubordination returning now that she’s decided to spare him. “The rest of your board decided to destroy you before you replaced them. Zaizen has decried and abandoned you. Most of the workers are rioting. There’s no way you can come back from this, SOLtech tortured children. One of them being your own son.”

“Yes.” She says, moving back towards the monitor, fingers trailing over the screen as she studies the face of the child she abandoned all those years ago. She reaches out, tips brushing over his face. It’s a lovely face, a pretty thing that leans towards her side in looks, but has just enough of his father in it that it’s not immediately noticeable. He lacks the green of her hair, but has her blues, and a bit of his father’s pink. The only green about him are his father’s eyes. Such lovely eyes. 

“Fujiki Yusaku.” She brushes her fingers over his cheeks. “You must take after me. Going after the Knights of Hanoi? That’s the kind of bitter rage and vengeance only a Bellefeuille could manage.”

Or at least from Bellefeuilles that weren’t her father. 

“At least you haven’t inherited much from your father.” She tapped her pained nail against his face, “He would have never survived what you did. I know this for a fact. No, you got that all from me. We’re both stone cold bitches.”

She doesn’t care about the rest of the children, they’re all worthless, just more pawns in the long game. She could use them, if she wanted, take them and recreate the Ignis if she really needed to. But they’re backup options. No, a part of her is proud to say that it was the fruit of her womb that proved to be the best of the lot. His presence in these events may have ultimately destroyed her, but the silver lining was that it was her who had created him. She’ll fall, but it was because of something she made. Hanoi, SOLtech, it was all because she spread her legs for King. 

“You win this one.” She tells her child, “But you’ll find that, even with SOLtech gone, I make a fierce enemy all on my own, and my vengeance burns as bitter as yours.”

Pawn made a horrified noise, “What are you going to do?”

“Me?” Queen stands up straight, leveling his gaze at him, “Did you really think I wouldn’t have a backup plan for a situation like this? I’m not the rest of the incompetents on the board. I have connections outside of SOLtech, and no one knows Regina Bellefeuille is Queen, legally speaking. My real name isn’t on any of the records, thank God for King’s stupidity.”

Pawn’s brows knitted together, “But...people will obviously be able to tell it’s you.”

“Do you really think I’m stupid enough to show my face around my backup investments?” She hummed, standing up straight. “I’m going back to France for some time. I’ll be back for my son in time.”

Pawn looked alarmed now, “You’re-”

“Leaving, yes.” She walked away from the monitor, humming under her breath. “And you’ll be coming with me, Pawn. I need someone to look after my father while I’m staying with him. I’m sure he’ll be happy to have the company.”

* * *

Kusanagi doesn’t come back to the tunnel for what felt like hours.

Specifically, it only took three and a half hours for him to come back, but it felt much longer. Though Yusaku supposes that’s just his sense of time slipping from him after having been left alone with his thoughts in the dark, anxiety pricking at his skin and pricking at his soul.

He’s never regretted his lack of hobbies more than now, if only so that he had something other than his thoughts to occupy him. He wishes he’d listened to his former therapist about finding something to occupy his hands other than coding. But then he remembers why he stopped listening to anything Dr. Lecter said and can’t blame his past self for so violently ignoring any advice the man had given him in the past.

Besides, he struggles to think of a hobby he hadn’t tried to excel in when he was being tossed around the foster system. It turned him off of the idea of indulging in such things, and his habit only worsened as he learned how to work systems and code, turning him into something of a workaholic. To an unhealthy and obsessive degree according to Kusanagi. 

He’d been working on that lately, now that the Knights of Hanoi were no longer around for him to obsess over. He’s been trying to spend more time outside, paying a bit more attention than normal to Shima’s tiresome ramblings, relaxing outside Cafe Nagi and focusing on homework, or even risking helping Kusanagi behind the grill. He hasn’t completely given up his old habit, but he’d been slowing down, trying to give this “living” thing a try.

It’s too bad none of that translated into things he could do here and now. 

He’s been focusing on breathing for a while now, counting in threes the inhale and exhale of his own breath, hand over his heart to make sure it’s still breathing. His cellphone is discarded at his side, unable to connect to a signal and having nothing else on it to occupy him but the same messages he’s read a hundred times by now. His lungs ache from the labor, constantly burning like he’d run a dozen miles.

He’s been back and forth on panicking since he’s been down here, constantly tittering on the verge of an all out attack, hanging on the edge of his mental health by what felt like mere twine. But even panic eventually fades after hours, or, at least, it becomes easier to deal with. The human capacity for adjustment is truly amazing, he supposes.

“Hey.” Kusanagi greats as he pushes open the door, bags hanging from the crooks of his arms and a large camping bag with what looked like bedrolls on the top and bottom respectively. He holds up one of the bags, waving it lazily, “I got us some stuff to do while we’re done here.” 

He drops himself on the sleeping bag next to Yusaku, bags rolling out in front of him as he lets out a long sigh, “It’s not much though.”

Yusaku, still counting his breath as he let his eyes linger on the bags. It’s mostly quick snacks, store bought sandwiches. But there’s a few other things, a rubix cube, a small pillow, what looked like various hand puzzles and a book or two. He lets out a relieved sigh, letting his hand sneak towards the rubix cube, thankful that Kusanagi seemed to understand him well enough to do this.

“How is it up there?” He asks, sounding a little more exhausted than he cared to, but wanting to fill the silence with something. Besides, he does need to know the news whether Kusanagi wanted him to or not. And it would be better to hear it from Kusanagi’s second hand source. Logically speaking, that is.

“Ugh.” Kusanagi makes a disgusted noise, raising his hand to scratch his cheek. His hands are bandaged now, he can’t help but notice. It makes him wonder what the older man has been doing up there. He hopes that Kusanagi hadn’t had a rare loss of temper and started a fight with someone over an ill timed comment. He wants to ask, he almost does, but this companion speaks first, “It’s...I’m not going to lie to you. It’s _bad_ up there.”

He thought so, “Have they…?”

A part of him doesn’t want to finish asking. Another part of him doesn’t even know what he’s avoiding asking in the first place. There are so many questions on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn’t know which one is most important to him at the moment. 

Kusanagi gets that about him, sighing and letting his hands fall on his knees, “I walked by your apartment...they were flooding the place and harassing your landlord. I don’t know who tracked down your address initially, but they’re waiting for you to show up.”

Yusaku wasn’t surprised. He was, however, deeply disappointed and mildly worried. His landlord said he’d only tolerate him there so long as he didn’t bring any “teen drama bullshit or social services” to his doorstep. This wasn’t social services, and not exactly “teen” drama, but this went well beyond either of those things. He can probably expect to find himself evicted when he gets back. Maybe even before he gets back. He hopes he doesn’t get back to his apartment to find all his stuff on the side of the road. He doesn’t have much, but he doesn’t want to lose his few possessions. 

He hopes Roboppy is okay.

“I might be evicted for this.” Yusaku confesses his worry to the older man, because something like that isn’t going to stay hidden for long, not with the way Kusanagi watches him. And it would be hard to hide carrying around all his possessions in the food truck. Assuming he ever gets a chance to casually do such a thing again. He doesn’t know where he can go from here, he honestly doesn’t. 

“Shit.” Kusanagi hisses, eyes narrowing a bit and bandaged hands gripping his knees tightly. Red bleeds through the knuckles of the bandages, and his suspicions that the man may have taken a few swings at someone. “Seriously?”

“My landlord said I have one chance and if he got even a single complaint or any drama he’d turn me out in a heartbeat.” Yusaku states plainly, knowing the man had very much meant it. 

“Shit.” Kusanagi spit again, eyes narrowing. His lip twitched, a resentful snarl briefly overtaking his features before twisting into a resigned sigh. “I’ll...sneak in and get your stuff when we figure out what to do.”

Oh, yeah. They couldn’t just live in the sewers, could they? But Yusaku honestly doesn’t know where to go from here. He hadn’t ever imagined that it would get this far. He’d planned for kidnappers, he’d planned for the Knights of Hanoi, or SOLtech if they ran out of other resources. He’d planned for enemies he could go to the police for, or escape into public spaces where he’d mostly be safe. He hadn’t expected the public itself to be the problem, and now he had nowhere to go. He’d lose his apartment for sure, and from there he had no life he could live. 

He’d really lost his whole life, hadn’t he? He couldn’t go back to his apartment, there’s no way he could go back to school, he has no plans for what to do or where to go next. The future was snatched so completely from his hands that he had nothing left. In a way, those leaks had done what Hanoi couldn’t, they’d trapped him right back in that room. 

He drops the rubix cube, wrapping his arms around his legs and pulling his knees close, resting his chin on them, body deflating. “I don’t have a plan, Kusanagi.”

The older man’s face hardened, purple bangs falling over his eyes for a moment, making him look far grimmer than Yusaku had ever seen him. When he spoke it was carefully even, “We’ll figure something out.”

“Three things.” Yusaku holds up three fingers, looking away from the man, eyes settle on a stain on the wall. “One, I will no longer have an apartment soon, and your apartment will likely also be compromised. Two, neither of us have friends who could house us until either your apartment is safe or we find another form of housing, if either one of us can find housing. Three, our lives will never be the same regardless and we will face constant harassment unless we leave or chance our identities, which we cannot do without taking Jin out of his hospital.”

Kusanagi looked like he swallowed a lemon when Yusaku glanced over toward him.

The blue haired boy buried his face in his knees, overcome with an emotion he’d never wanted to feel again: helplessness. He was helpless. He was helpless, and frightened, and he didn’t know what to do. 

The only thing he could hope to do was run. Flee somewhere far away and change his name and face and hope no one ever noticed him. Witness protection, only self enforced. But to do that he’d have to leave Kusanagi behind, because he would never, ever, leave Jin. 

Maybe they could go to the police? Disguise themselves and sneak through the streets until they find a station and ask to be put in a real witness protection program. But even then there were so many risks, so many factors. Everyone would know his face. Everyone. He’d have to change everything about himself, or spend the rest of his life hiding somewhere in solitude. For years and years until the Lost Incident became more of a historical fascination than a present one.

But…

He didn’t _want_ to.

He liked his life here. He wanted to build his life here. He’d gotten used to the idea of building a future, to the sunny days of Den City, to the bustling of Cafe Nagi, to the sounds of seagulls and waves hitting the shore by Stardust Road. He’d gotten _used_ to that life, been _content_ with that life. He was almost _happy_. He was so close to it he could _taste_ it on the tip of his tongue. And every day became a little better, a little more alive. He wanted to move on from the worst moments in his life and start making the best at last. 

Right there on Stardust Road, where he felt his first taste of heartbreak, but also the first taste of closure and felt the easy peace of determination. The hope that one day the person that gave him hope would return to the shore made of starlight and maybe, just maybe, Yusaku could pull him from the edge the same way he’d once done for him. 

All his happiness and hopes rested here in Den City, and now it was all gone.

“I…” Yusaku exhaled, breath somewhat uneven. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Yusaku…” Kusanagi’s voice was raw, and the teen didn’t dare look up to meet the older man’s eyes. But he saw the man move, reaching out a hand like he wanted to touch him, but stopping short. “Yusaku, we’ll figure this out. We will.”

“I know. It’s not like we can live down here.” Yusaku mumbled, arms still linked around his legs, “But what?”

Kusanagi said nothing for a long time. 

When he spoke again, it was a lot more put together. He stood up, brushing his knees off, moving to stand in front of Yusaku and holding out his hand impatiently. “Alright, get up.”

Yusaku’s head snapped up, eyes widening just a bit, “...what?”

“You heard me.” Kusanagi didn’t wait for him, seizing him by the shoulder and pulling him to his feet. Yusaku stumbled, almost tripping, but the older man caught him, shoving his hat over Yusaku’s head and drowning him in his oversized coat. “We’re _not_ staying here in a sewer. I can’t _believe_ I even played along until this point. Come on, we’re leaving.”

Yusaku pulled back from the man, the jacket already over warm in the dank and airless tunnel, “Where can we go? You said it was a mess up there.”

“I pulled my savings.” Kusanagi is already gathering up their things, shoving them into his backpack. “We’re going to stay at a seedy hotel until this is over.”

A _hotel_?

“A hotel?” He asks flatly, tongue clicking, “Kusanagi. First, you can’t afford a long stay at a hotel. Second, we could easily be recognized by-”

“Just let me do the talking, no one will recognize us.” Kusanagi stands, throwing the backpack over his shoulders, turning to face him. His arms are crossed, and his frown leaves little room for argument. “Look, Yusaku, I was willing to _maybe_ spend the night here, but it’s clear it’s not helping you. At all. I’d feel a lot better if we hid out in a hotel for a few days under a fake name and some credits.”

Yusaku raised a brow. “The only places willing to do that are places where hookers and drug dealers do business.”

“Then that’s where we’ll go. Either way, we’re getting out of the sewer.” Kusanagi shook his head, nose wrinkling. “A _sewer_. I can’t believe I ever thought to play along with this. I’m not letting a sixteen year old sleep in a _sewer_. No way.”

Annoyance bubbled inside Yusaku, the rising irritation painting across his features as he let his unimpressed gaze land on the man, “You can make me leave Kusanagi.”

“I know I can’t _make_ you.” Kusanagi wrinkled his nose again, like he wanted nothing more than to do just that. But he threw out his arm instead, waving towards the broken down equipment, “But, Yusaku, we’re in a dark, enclosed, sewer. And we can’t...how long do you want to _stay_ down here?”

“Until we figure out a plan.” Yusaku answered without pause, fist clenching at his sides, “Until I know for sure what we’re going to do.”

It was the only sense of control he still had left. He was safe as long as he was down here. And once he had a plan then he had control again. Then it wouldn’t matter if he left or not.

“We’ll do just as well in a hotel room with a bed and lights and fresh food and showers and phone signals as we will in a sewer.” Kusangai stepped forward, reaching out imploringly. “Fun fact, if you ask hotel staff not to share your name with anyone asking they won’t. It’s to protect abuse victims that run away from home. And...and even police can’t storm rooms without a warrant. We’ll be _safe_ , I promise.”

It was a lot to promise, especially since they were already stored away safely in this sewer where no one could find them. 

_Nevermind, I’ll track you down myself._

He shuttered.

That’s right, no one could find them here. Not even the people he wanted to find him. Not Ai, or Ryouken, or...well, they were the only ones. But down here all he could do was feel the vague ghost of Ai’s presence tugging at their bond every few hours, trying to feel if he’s still there, reassurance humming through their connection whatever they made contact. A silent promise that they will reunite. 

And they could, if he hacked one of the cleaning bots and made a connection. Ai could ride the network and reach him on the duel disk, and then he’d at least have his partner for company again. Maybe Ai would cry, or apologize, or scream about what was happening. But they’d be together, and Yusaku’s life would be a little more full.

_I’ll track you down myself._

Track him down, huh?

Yusaku wanted, for a single, aching, moment. He wanted so badly for just that to happen. For a moment he had a petty, immature, thought. He wanted to see how far Ryouken would go to find him. He wanted to be the one chased, for just this once. He wanted to be the one just out of reach while the other outstretched his hands and tried desperately to catch him. Show Ryouken how it felt to be the one desperately searching without destination or certainty for once. 

But that was just a petty thought, a moment of weakness. He knew he could never commit to such a thought, not when it came to the one person that gave him hope, a reason to live during the darkest time of his life.

  
  
He needed to be where Ai and Ryouken could find him.

But he also needed to be safe. He needed to be somewhere no one else would find him before either of those two. And that meant trusting Kusanagi to keep him safe.

So he looked up to his long time companion, jaw set, “Okay.”

* * *

The first thing Ryouken did when they reached the shore was go back to the house where his father had died.

Despite desperate pleading with him, he hadn’t let the others leave the boat, nor had he changed his mind about returning. The manor was the only private port where they could dock, and despite his father’s now sordid reputation the area was guarded and private. No one could simply enter without the permission of the owner, who was Ryouken himself, and he wasn’t about to give anyone that particular privilege. And with his father’s death certificate signed and no reasonable excuses to believe that Ryouken was in any way involved with the Hanoi project nor the knights themselves, he doubted that anyone would show up with a warrant. 

So they docked there, in Ryouken’s private land, and he ignored his lieutenants protests and ascended the long series of stairs that lead to the house he’d grown up in. 

Somehow he expected it to be different, but it was the same it had always been.

The cleaning bots had kept the building pristine, not a speck of dust in place. As black and white and sterile as it had ever been. Ryouken thinks it may have been more decorated, once. Or, at least, he’d once found lots of decorations in storage, colorful things, exotic things. Things his mother must have placed around their home, and that his father must have removed upon their messy divorce. Things he never bothered to replace because he was rarely home and didn’t care for the decoration anyway. He was a crisp, clean, man and didn’t care for the clutter of personalization. 

Ryouken felt his fingers twitch as his eyes roamed over the empty house. They didn’t even have furniture. There were no couches in the living room, no coffee tables. There were no plants in the windows, or blinds or curtains because they were unneeded with so much private land surrounding them. There wasn’t even a dinner table in the dining room, Ryouken and Spectre having spent the last ten years at the marble topped kitchen island, the chairs being the only furniture outside of offices and bedrooms. 

An empty house perfect for the ghosts that haunt it. 

But an empty one nonetheless, and one he’s not planning to stay in for long. 

It was just a base, he reminds himself, stepping through the door and inside the empty house, filling it with no one but himself and himself alone. Assuming the bots took care of his father’s body like he’d ordered them to. He hadn’t checked what tombs they buried him in, if they buried him. Ryouken doesn’t know, doesn’t think he’ll ever be ready to know. His father had never told him where he wanted to be buried, if he wanted to be buried. Ryouken had always assumed he wanted to be buried next to his mother, that’s even where he ordered the bots to put him. Find his mother and arrange things around whatever they did for her. 

Well, his mother was very much alive. Which means either his father hasn’t been buried yet, or his mother had gotten a very nasty surprise at her doorstep. Ryouken isn’t sure he wants to know. He doesn’t even want to think of the idea his father’s body may still be in his room, still in that bed, dead and rotting and unprepared after two months.

He almost hopes that they delivered the body to his mother. Whatever her reaction it would be better than the alternative. Still, he avoids the room anyway, not smelling the stench of rot and decay as he walks into the home, but still, he’d rather not risk it. He doesn’t want to know.

It doesn’t feel better, being in his own room again. It’s almost as empty as the rest of the house. It was a bit more colorful, a bit more full. Computers monitor on a desk, a bed, three blue walls and a glass wall for a window. He doesn’t waste time feeling nostalgic, pulling out his desk chair and planting himself in front of the monitor, fingers flying as he set out to work.

The first goddamn thing he did was buy a bigger fucking boat.

He didn’t even give a solitary _fuck_.

It’s not like the leaks took away his money. His father has been legally dead for seven years, and no one can demand Ryouken’s inheritance. Especially since he’d just turned eighteen, and was thus legally an adult by Den City law. And it’s not like more than a sizable chunk of it hadn’t been made from investments. A lot of it was his income, and not one could take it away or demand it of him. And if he had to share a room with either Aso or Spectre one more night his mother would likely be receiving _his_ body in the mail. So, yes, the first thing he did was drop a frankly absurd amount of money on a full out luxury yacht that could apparently support up to fourteen people without issue and plenty of space so he would _never_ have to share a bedroom again. 

That infuriating problem solved, Ryouken moved on to the other issue. The one he really should have been working on from the start. 

Six victims, several live news feeds, only one knight whose location is known. 

None of the news media has been able to get an interview with even one of the victims, but all of their homes have been found. On all streams Ryouken opens there are shots of their home, their victims likely huddling inside and trying to wait out the storm. 

Except Playmaker, because he’s apparently wisely paranoid. 

His home makes Ryouken wrinkle his nose in disgust. Shabby, run down, peeling paint and stairs that seem to have been neglected for years. There’s no possible way that building passed inspections without a bribe, he refuses to believe it. And Playmaker lived there. Was he trying to be _robbed_? There was no security at that place. They could have _easily_ kidnapped him again if Ryouken had let his identity slip.

It didn’t matter, he wouldn’t be living there for much longer. It was all just a matter of convincing....him...to…

Ryouken’s fingers freeze.

What was he _doing_? Planning to spirit away the boy who ruined his life? The same boy whose life he ruined? What was he thinking? That he’d take Playmaker and put him on the same boat as the people who had been responsible for his torment? Ask him to be okay with that? Ask that hotdog man he spends oh-so-much time with to join them? 

What was he even _doing_ here?

The white haired boy growled in frustration, pushing himself back from the desk. Why had he come here? Why was his first instinct to come running in like a damned fool and yank the boy away? Hadn’t they lost that right? Hadn’t they established that they did nothing but _ruin_ one another? So _why_ was he _here_?

Was this just their sick fate? Doomed to chase each other in circle over and over again, trying to find that future or destruction they both foresaw for one another? The idea makes Ryouken laugh bitterly, running a hand through his hair. Prisoners of destiny indeed. 

He’d wanted Playmaker to die with him.

No, he wanted _Yusaku_ to die with him.

He wanted to wrap his arms around his greatest mistake and drown in redemption, finally erasing the worst of his wrongs from the world and proving he was the good son he’d always wanted to be. That he’d become the decent person at long last. He wanted to die knowing that he’d proved himself, that he’d saved humanity doing it. And his reward would be dying knowing he had fulfilled his father’s final plans, the one person he’d always wanted to protect in his arms, leaving this terrible, _rotten_ , world behind. 

But Playmaker won, and Yusaku slipped from his grasp, the tower falling, his father falling, and nothing but grief and living just like the other boy had wanted. The only victory that day being the bittersweet taste of knowing that even as he lived, he was denying Playmaker what he wanted as well, sailing away from that future he wanted to build together and leaving it behind to _rot_.

And now they’ve come full circle again. That future Playmaker had so desperately wanted had been set aflame, destroyed more thoroughly than Revolver could ever hope. And without even realizing it had been destroyed Revolver had come running, ready to take Playmaker into his arms and burn together.

Ryouken actually _does_ laugh at that, a bit bitterly, rubbing his hand over his face. He doesn’t bother with the monitor again, falling back on the neglected bed, letting out a long sigh as he runs his hand further downward. 

Playmaker still hasn’t answered his phone. 

“Petty _bitch_.” Ryouken spits, giving in to the bubbling stress and frustration. He wouldn’t normally let himself use such foul language, he was raised better than that at any rate, but today seems to be an exception to a lot of things. “Answer your damn phone.”

The phone remains painfully silent. 

He hisses, honest frustration leaving him in near inconsolable rage for a flash. Ryouke’s free hand curls against the comforter, twisting the fabric between his fingers. “You’re really going to make me hunt you down, aren’t you?”

Playmaker can’t hear him, of course he can’t, so of course the phone remained silent. But it still makes Ryouken irrationally angry that he didn’t somehow answer despite this. He growls again, hand slipping over the expanse of his stomach and downward still.

He’s alone now, he realizes. Alone for the first time in two months.

“You want me to _chase_ you? Fine.” Ryouken brushes against his most sensitive organ, taking his chance to vent all his frustrations. “I’ll chase you. I’ll track you down and _drag_ you out.”

He imagines Fujiki there, not Playmaker, but Yusaku. Yusaku kneeling between his thighs, just a little bit older, just enough that Ryouken can’t feel guilty thinking about this, just two years. Just a little bit more filled out with actual goddamn food and care. Not allowed to touch him, just forced to watch with those green, green, eyes that ruined Ryouken’s life twice over. Forced to watch until he was good and ready for him. “Acting like you haven’t been chasing me for ten years. Is this some sort of revenge? Making _me_ chase _you_ now? Trying to teach me a lesson?”

Whatever game Yusaku is playing, Ryouken doesn’t have the patience for it. He hasn’t had the patience in a while now. He imagines Fujiki opening his mouth, trying to explain himself, but he thinks that mouth could be put to better use doing something else. So he imagines doing just that, taking advantage of that, shoving himself inside that pretty little mouth and fucking himself against the back of that slim throat. And, because that's apparently his kink, he imagines Fujiki wearing Revolver's earrings, the metal dangling with every thrust and buck of his hips, a clear symbol of just _who_ he belonged to.

“Not answering my calls, like you don’t want to speak to me. Like I don’t _know_ you’re a bitch in heat wanting more than I can give you.” He hisses again, eyes squeezing shut, hot angry tears stinging the edges of his eyes and slipping away. “Upset you lost? Trying to find some way to win again before I find you? I don’t _think_ so, not _this_ _time_. It’s _my_ turn to win.”

He probably shouldn’t be doing this here and now, or thinking these things, or imagining this at all. But it’s the best he’s felt in months, so all he can do his throw his head back and go harder, groaning as his mind blanks and the words leaving his mouth are no longer in his control, “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_. This feels so _good_.”

It shouldn’t feel this good to imagine that mouth around him, not after everything, not for the person partially responsible for his father’s death, for all his misery. But it really, really, does. “ _God_ , _fuck. You look so good,_ _you **feel** so_ good.”

“Fuck. _Fuck_. Let me take care of you. _Just let me take care of you_.” The words coming out of his mouth are gibberish now, an uncontrolled mess of pleasured groans, “Come _back_ to me and _let me take care of you_.”

It only takes a few more hard jerks and buckling hips before he’s a nothing but a sweaty, panting, exhausted mess. His body falling back against his sheets and chest heaving. His mind blanks for a lot longer than it should have, nothing but a faint and pleasured hum. And when he regains his senses a pit of shame builds in his stomach, and all he can do is hold up his mess covered hand and stare in disgust.

Well, at least he finally knew where his priorities lay. Apparently he wanted Playmaker’s mouth more than he wanted to die.

“ _Fuck_.” He dropped his hand, stewing in his own mess. The anger and frustration has mostly left him, gone in that moment of emotional release. “You win this one _again_ , Playmaker.”

Because, apparently, he did want that future together despite himself. 

_Dammit_.

He didn’t see how it was possible, when Ryouken wasn’t going to give up on his mission to destroy the Ignis and Playmaker, Yusaku, would probably defend “Ai” with his dying breath. He didn’t see how they could live together when Ryouken had been complacent in the other boy’s torment, and had even been partly responsible for it. He didn’t see it when Ryouken’s only family were the same people that had been the ones who started and then never willingly stopped the Hanoi Project. But he wanted it. 

“ _Damn you_.” He glares resentfully at the ceiling, thinking of those sinfully green eyes, “You’ve set me astray _again_.”

He should double down, he should leave Playmaker to rot, face the consequences of his vigilante actions. He should take advantage of the public’s knowledge of the Lost Incident to do what he can, to rally people against the Ignis and destroy them once and for all.

But Yusaku would never let him. And the public would never side with Ryouken and Hanoi over one of the subjects of the experimentation. Those files painted a very clinical and impersonal picture of his father, only a cold analytical look. They didn’t know the man. They didn’t know the father. They didn’t know he personally taught Ryouken his maths and sciences. They don’t know he considered the Ignis his children, and how painful these plans were for him. They only know the scientist. Nothing else about the man beneath the science.

...except the as husband that painted his wife as an emotional abuser when she tried to expose his premeditated experimentation against children. One who allowed a smear campaign against a woman he’d married and then never allowed her a chance to see their shared child.

“Fuck.” He groans, “I don’t want to think about this _now_.”

But the thoughts come nonetheless. 

Turns out wanting a future, for him, means angrily reexamining the past while he lays in his own sweat and mess. Because of course it does. But he forcibly pushes those thoughts aside for now, deciding those thoughts will come later. 

First he has to live up to his promise to hunt Yusaku down, and convince him to live on a luxury yacht. Possibly by leaving Aso and Gerome on the fucking boat. Good, it just means he won't have to share a bathroom with either ever again.

* * *

**Bonus** :

A camera watches distantly as the reporter walks blatantly into the auto-shop. The garage is busy, full of the sounds of scraping metal whirling through the air. The thick smell of oil is heavy, and it makes the woman’s nose wrinkle. She looks out of place here, in her perfect and prim suit-top and skirt, hair perfectly in place, makeup just as perfect, and microphone held loosely in hand. 

Her method is a bit insidious, but she didn’t get this far by not being cutthroat. 

The woman she’s looking for is easy to spot, the only female among the mechanics. But even if she hadn’t been she would have been easy to spot. An obvious immigrant, standing out from her pale faced co-workers with her slightly darker skin and head of silver hair tied in a loose ponytail. The only thing similar about her is the blue jumpsuit, grease stained and worn, her face equally grease stained as she leans over the speeder.

The reporter doesn’t even pause, seizing her moment and approaching, cameraman close behind. “Ms. Inina Kaʻuhane?”

The woman looks up, brows knitting together in confusion when her eyes landed on the camera. She stands up straight, looking a little more wary now as she speaks slowly, “...how may I help you honey?"

“So you are Ms. Kaʻuhane?” The reporter insisted, wanting on camera confirmation.

The woman was hesitant, wary, the reporter doesn’t blame her. She doesn’t think she’s seen the articles yet, likely having been stuck in this nasty garage all day with that loud steel. Excellent, that means she’s the first to get her on camera. “...yes?”

“Excellent.” The reporter smiled brightly, eager now. “I would like to ask you some questions.”

“I’m here legally, sweetheart.” The woman automatically insists, almost defensively. “My immigration to Neo-Domino is being sponsored by Mr. and Mrs. Atlas. And I have the backing of Mr. Fudo as well. Both of whom are _well-known_ for hiring former convicts, so if you’re looking for dirt I don’t have any to give you.”

“No, no.” The reporter insisted, straightening her hair. “I would like to ask you questions regarding your marriage to Dr. Kogami and the ruination of your reputation that followed.”

If the woman was defensive before, then she was a downright fortress now. Her fist clenched, raising just a bit, and she took a step back, face twisting into an ugly scold. “And why the _fuck_ would I want to talk about him? He’s dead, let him rot in peace and rest wherever men like him go.”

“I see there are bitter feelings?” The reporter follows up, pleased with the reaction. Pure, indigent, anger was good, especially since it was so _genuine_ , and not yet tempered by the news she has yet to see. It was telling when the ex-wife was so venomous, especially given her history with what happened. The drama and tragedy was too delicious.

“No fuck, that two bit rotten milk carton ruined my life.” The woman scolded fiercely, tears forming in the corner of her eyes. Tears she tried valiantly to blink away, “I went to jail, I was nearly deported back to Hawaii, I haven’t seen my son since he was _two_. I _hated_ the man.”

“It was quite the scandal that ended your marriage, wasn’t it?” She asks, leaning in, “Apparently, you tried to expose him for apparent abuse?”

The woman scolded even more fiercely now, eyes narrowed dangerously and lips twisting in an ugly snarl, “I told him he couldn’t be a father _and_ a child abusing fuckwit. He said he’d never raise a hand against Ryouken, I told him he was a hypocrite that didn’t believe in his own cause. He said that wasn’t true, I told him to choose his family or...well...he chose wrong. The end. Now _leave_.”

“Tell me the nature of why, exactly, you thought your husband was a child abuser.” The reporter insists, leaning further in.

The woman shakes her head, crossing her arms over her chest. “I told you to leave. I’ve got work to do and I don’t have time to talk about a man that’s dead and gone. Let the dead rest. It’s the least we can do.”

“Just a few more questions-”

“Oh no! No, no, _no_! The young lady told you to leave!” A voice yells loudly across the garage, making everyone, employees and intruders alike, jump and whirl to face it.

Old Jack Altas, pushing through his mid seventies, came hobbling in on his cane, scolding more fiercely than an attack dog. He was rather fit for a man his age, managing an old anger burning in him even now, helping fuel is determined hobbling as he raised his cane and shook it, “You don’t harass my employees you two bit hack reporter! Get! _Get_! Out of our garage! You’re intruding! Don’t make me call security you sleaze!”

“Mr. Atlas!” The woman’s eyes brightened, turning to him, “Were you made aware of-”

“Get out! _Get out!_ The only reporters I answer to are my wife and granddaughter respectively.” The man waved his cane wildly, “Get! _GET_! Don’t make me use this! I’m not afraid to fight hack reporters!”

“Mr. Atlas.” Inina Kaʻuhane looked like the stars themselves had shined on her. Her face going much more pleasant and kind as she looked at him, “Mr. Atlas, thank goodness you're here. This woman was digging into my past.”

“No one harasses my employees!” Atlas raised his cane again, “You’ll be lucky if I don’t tell the Fudos of this! _Security_! Escort these intruders out!”

Atlas’ personal security did just that, two men in three piece suits coming from the hall he’d entered from and crossing their arms, standing tall and intimidating until the reporter was forced to sink in on herself, cursing silently as her scoop was lost.

As she was being escorted out of the building, all she heard was Ms. Kaʻuhane ask, “What was that all about?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Sips latte] So I did some bad things today.
> 
> I like to call this chapter "Two disaster moms and their very in love sons". Except the moms are disasters for two very different reasons, and the sons are also two very different stages of being in love. Kusanagi, the dad of the chapter, still hasn't gotten his coffee and would very much appreciate the caffeinated assistance. Please.
> 
> At least Kusanagi got Yusaku out of the sewer, that's a step up.
> 
> If you found Ryouken's angry wank unsexy, well, that was kind of the point. That was angry emotional release and, frankly, I'm concerned about you Ryouken. If any of it made you uncomfortable then even better!
> 
> Look, we got a cameo. I wasn't gonna add the bonus, but people wanted to see a bit more of media attention and also more of Ryouken's mom. In case you're wondering, yes, she's Native Hawaiian.
> 
> Next chapter we get more of that world on fire and check in with everyone else that wants to kidnap Yusaku!


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

**Hiraeth** (Welsh): A particular type of longing for the homeland or the romanticized past.

* * *

The very moment Yusaku ascended from the sewage tunnels his phone messages went wild. It buzzed loudly and rapidly in his pocket, a series of pings updating him on his messages, their vibrations unceasing as what must be hundreds of messages flooded his phone at once. It was a loud, attention grabbing, process as he struggled to silence his phone. 

Thankfully, wherever it was Kusanagi had led him, it seemed to be some sort of empty back alley, only lit by a red glow and flashing neon lights. But Yusaku didn’t have time to fully process what was around him, struggling with the volume controls as message after message flashed across his screen. 

Yusaku caught glimpses of the senders as the messages flooded his phone. There had to be a few dozen from Ryouken alone. But he also recognized Shima’s name popping into view a few times, and his school had sent him a few calls as well, along with three texts from his landlord. Beyond that, there were hundreds of messages from unknown numbers, a fact that sent a shiver down his spine as he realized that his cellphone number had somehow gotten out.

Had it been in the files too? Or had they stolen it from somewhere? His school files maybe? 

Kusanagi turns to him, lips thinning as he watches the phone flash and vibrate in his hand. “You didn’t take out your own card.”

Yusaku opens his mouth, ready to explain, but words fail him as he realizes that wanting Ryouken...Revolver, to be able to contact them was probably an answer Kusanagi wouldn’t accept. In fact, Yusaku can see his companion reacting very, very, negatively to the idea. He didn’t...wouldn’t...trust Ryouken. He wasn’t as forgiving of the other boy's actions as Yusaku. Maybe understanding, maybe. He’s not sure. Yusaku hasn’t actually talked to Kusanagi about Ryouken since that first week after they’d found out his identity, after that confrontation. After the other boy fled with the remains of Project Hanoi’s scientist into the sea.

  
  
They’d...talked about what they would do if he ever came back.

_“I know you want to help him, Yusaku.” Kusanagi had said, jaw set and brows knitted together, “And, I get it. He’s just a kid, not much older than you. No, don’t look at me like that. You’re a kid. And so is he. He’s a kid that’s been raised by those bastards. And I know you want to help him, but...and I know this is going to be hard to accept, but we can only do so much. If he’s set in his ways and refuses to move...well, Yusaku, we can’t just let the rest of the scientists responsible for what happened run free. And if he chooses to stand in our way...you know we’ll have to stop him, right?”_

Yusaku’s hand tightens around the thin glass of his phone. He’s not sure how Kusanagi will take the news that Ryouken contacted him. He knows Kusanagi trusts his judgement, but how much? Would he trust him in this? Knowing his bias?

He knows that he has to warn Kusanagi that Ryouken was tracking him down, and might be working on tracking him right now. But for a moment he’s afraid. Afraid of the disapproval, afraid of what the other man would say. He doesn’t want Kusanagi to…

He doesn’t know. 

He doesn’t know why he’s so fearful. 

His knuckles are white around his phone, the limb shaking as the notifications finally stop. Over four-hundred messages. Most of them from complete strangers. Only a few dozen of them from people he knew. 

Kusanagi takes in his expression, or he assumes so, because the man sounds concerned, “Yusaku?”

The boy sighed, opening his messages and scrolling downward, past all the masses of unknown numbers, right down to the nearest named contact. As predicted, it looked like his landlord was furious.

“Come on, you don’t have to look at that all right now.” Kusanagi stepped in front of him, his taller form shadowing him from the neon lights. Green eyes turned upward, meeting gray, his hand still shaking. The older man frowned down at him, waving a hand at the phone. “Just...at least wait until we get to the room, okay?”

Yusaku frowns looking down at the messages again, “My landlord is angry.”

“Don’t worry about that right now, we’ll figure it out.” Kusanagi insists again, frowning at the phone with a slight glare. “Let’s just get to a safe place first, okay? So just...put it down and come with me.”

He knows that’s the correct course of action, secure their safety first and foremost. But the sheer amount of numbers on his phone makes his stomach churn. And, privately, he wants to check Ryouken’s messages again, see what progress he’d made in tracking him, what else he’d had to say before Yusaku had cut himself off from communication down in the tunnels.

The messages will still be there when he’s safe in a room, he assures himself. But it’s still hard for him to switch the device off, slipping it back into his pocket and staring up at Kusanagi and nodding, ready to leave.

But then he realizes that his duel disk is still strapped to his arm.

And that only draws his attention away from safety again, because somehow he hadn’t even registered to him that he still had the device firmly strapped to his wrist. He’d forgotten about it during all this, somehow, but now that he was back above ground, where he was connected to the network, it pinged loudly, notifying him that his PM had messages. 

His PMs were set to private.

Either Kusanagi had messaged him, which he very much doubts, or he’d gotten a copy of the files too. 

Yusaku took a shuddering breath. Of course he’d gotten a copy too. Everyone in Vrains had gotten one, it only made sense that he would get one too. He’s not sure why he’s surprised. It was the logical conclusion. 

But knowing that didn’t make the reality any better.

He felt something sick build inside him as he stared at the one singular notification, a sick twisting in his stomach. He stared, pale faced, shaking, knowing very well everything about him, all his pains and records, were right there attached to his wrist. It’s very tempting to open the message and read through everything, the morbid curiosity and need to know burning within him. 

“Yusaku.” Kusanagi calls, and he looks up, meeting the other man’s stern gaze. Kusanagi shakes his head, frowning deeply, “Don’t do it. At least not here.”

The teen gulps, swallowing a thick lump, nodding his head as he drops his wrist to his side. Kusanagi keeps a keen eye on him, but turns gesturing for Yusaku to follow him out of the alley. And he does, gladly, no longer feeling safe here even with the baseball cap and hoodie hiding his features, eager to get away from the outside and out of the public eye.

Wherever they were in the city, Yusaku didn’t recognize it. There are neon lights everywhere, and the streets are crowded with shops and venders selling fried food out of their tents. There are people in short dresses and loose shorts, more heels than he’s ever seen. There is a truck selling glowing neon drinks out of its side, and so many smells that Yusaku finds himself becoming overwhelmed immediately. There’s also a lot of noise. So much noise he has to fight to keep from shoving his hands over his ears. Den City is always crowded, but this is...different. It’s more crowded here than ever, and people are dancing in the streets, many of them holding martini glasses and other such things.

More than a few of those people almost fall on him, or grab him trying to ask for a dance. He ends up shifting uncomfortably, stewing beneath his clothes. He finds himself reaching out, grabbing onto the back of Kusanagi’s clothes out of sheer desperation, not wanting to be swept away by the crowd and lose his only companion. 

Green eyes shift uneasily, trying to memorize buildings and landmarks as they wall. Only his eyes catch onto a shop with...lingerie...in the windows. And a lot of handcuffs for some reason. His eyes uncomfortably linger there, his gaze drawn by a holoscreen with an announcement printed across it in giant bold letters: ‘ _ **Due To A Recent Awareness As To The Possible Identity Of Playmaker And His Status As A Probable Minor, All Playmaker Inspired Products Have Been Discontinued. We Apologize For The Inconvenience And Openly Discourage The Continued Usage Of Previously Purchased Products.**_ ’

Yusaku’s breath hitches as he reads the announcement, the implications of the suspicions weighing heavy on him. He shuffles closer to Kusanagi, not quite attaching himself to the man’s back, but close to doing so, fingers twisting his shirt into a balled knot. If it bothers the older man at all, he doesn’t say anything, simply leading Yusaku further and further into this red and neon jungle. 

They must have passed by a dozen karaoke bars and restaurants with strange costumes before they reach a hotel. Yusaku hadn’t even been able to tell it was a hotel when they approached it. It looked like one of those walled in apartments, the kind you find in middle class neighborhoods here. With small metal balconies under every window, with flower pots hanging from them. But Kusanagi leads him right inside, ignoring the crows from across the street as they all let out whoops and hollers.  
  


The inside is...nice. It’s covered in velvet carpets and silky red curtains. There’s flower pots everywhere, and leather couches all across the lobby with many different ladies are sitting. There’s fancy art on the walls, and statues of naked women along the pillars of the wall.

Where were they? This seemed a lot more...expensive and...classy?...than Yusaku was picturing. Could Kusanagi even afford a place like this?

The man in question sent a look over his shoulder, “Yusaku, can you wait here? I’ll...try to vaguely explain the situation at the front desk and get us a room. Okay?”

His hands tighten for a moment, hesitance building in his heart. But he ultimately nods, releasing the back of the older man’s shirt and taking a step back. Kusanagi gives a quick nod, turning around and stepping towards the front desk.

Left to his own devices for now, Yusaku stands there, studying the lounge further. It really is a lot nicer than he was expecting, especially considering how chaotic it was outside. Wherever they were in Den City, it must be some kind of party district for the wealthy or something. Perhaps a gambling hot spot. That would explain the niceness of the hotel, but...there’s no way they could get in here under the table and under an alias.

A clicking rings in his ears, and Yusaku finds himself tensing, turning his eyes to face whoever approached him.

It was one of the women from the couch, approaching him with her tall, tall, heels clicking loudly. She was a very red woman. Her head was a long series of giant red curls, her lipstick was red, her nails were perfectly red, the large dangling earrings she wore were red. Even her dress was red, short and seemingly starting half way down her breast and ending maybe a little too high up her thigh for what was generally considered decent, with a window on her stomach showing off a rose tattoo and fishnets covering her legs.

“Ya al’right there darlin’?” Her voice was thick with an accent Yusaku had never heard of before, her lips pursed as she stopped in front of him, “Ya lookin’ a little pale.”

It took him a moment to even register she was speaking to him. He felt a wave of paranoia take him, trying to sink further inside the oversized jacket as he answered, “I’m fine.”

“Ya sure sweetie? Ya lookin really down.” She bent forward a bit, her honey eyes trying to peer at his face. He slunk away, trying to hide himself further, but if she noticed she didn’t comment on it, only moving on to her next question. “Wazza matter pumpkin? Chu’ get in a fight wit your boyfriend?”

That makes Yusaku’s brian actually freeze for a moment.

“Wh-What?” He asks, honestly startled, putting his years of fine Den City education to brilliant use. 

“So I was right!” The woman waves, leaning back up and laughing, “Oh, pumpkin, don’t worry about it. We’ve got all sorts around here. And I’ve been around here long enough tah notice. But nevermind all that, tell me, how’d a sweet thing like you end up here?”

Yusaku pinched his lips shut, refusing to answer. 

“Musta been a bad fight.” The woman concluded, looking very sympathetic. Her hands land on her hips, and she purses her lips again, “You wanna tell mama Candi about it honeypie?”

“I…” Yusaku doesn’t know why he was struggling so much to answer this invasive woman. He doesn’t have a boyfriend, nor is it any of her business if he did, much less if he’d had a fight with said hypothetical boyfriend. But the words clog in his throat, and he can’t choke them out. 

“Oh no.” The woman only seems more distressed, “Did he walk out? Is tha’ why ya here baby?”

Yusaku’s tongue felt heavy in his mouth, and all he could do was stare in baffled confusion.

“Ooooohhhhh, _hoooooooonnnneeeeeeeeyyyyy_.” The woman paced a hand over her heart, “Oh, sweetheart, I’m _so_ sorry. But I’m sure it’ll work out. This is just a little bump in the road. I’m sure things will work out.”

“I’m…not…” Yusaku tried to find words to that, not entirely sure how this conversation was happening in the first place. “...sure how you think this.”

“Oh, honey, I’ve seen plenty of couples fight.” The woman shook her head, “And I’ve seen some bad ones, but ain’t nothing worth keeping that wasnn’ also worth fightin for. Ya just need tah work at it, talk to ‘im. Get that proper communication going on. Compromise an’ all that.”

Was...this one really giving him _relationship advice_ right now?

“I’m Candi, by the way. Candi Applé, with an I.” The woman twirled one of her dangly earrings around her finger. “I work here.”

“I’m…” He wishes he could disappear inside his hoodie, “Not interested.”

The woman laughed mirthfully, eyes gleaming, “I didn’t thin ya were.”

Yusaku isn’t sure how much more clearly he can tell her to go away, so he just watches her, mildly discomforted.

“Here darlin’, lemme give you some advice for when ya make up.” Candi smiled, her candy apple lips spread wide, “See, here’s something you can do to make things more fun. Ya wanna start makin cranberry juice part of ya diet.”

Yusaku felt his brows knit together, “Cranberry juice? Why?”

“Well…” Candi smiled. “It’s really good fer certain parts, if ya know what I mean. And, trust me honey cakes, it’ll make ya taste really sweet for ya mans.”

Confusions burned through Yusaku, not understanding why cranberry juice of all things was suddenly so important. And, against his better judgement, the need to understand pushed him to search for further clarification, “Sweet?”

“Yeah, you know…” Candi leaned forward, earrings dangling, “For…”

“No.” Almost out of nowhere Kusanagi appeared by his side, pushing his way between Yusaku and Candi, a deep scold on his face. “Ma’am, I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but he’s not interested.”

“Oh dear, no. I wasn’t sellin nothin’.” The woman waved a red nailed hand, her smile becoming amused as she eyed Kusanagi up and down. “Don’t worry babe, I was just given some _advice_.”

“I’m hitting the eject button on this conversation right now.” Kusanagi told her firmly, a vein twitching in his neck. “He’s underage. Leave him alone.”

“Oh?” The woman blinked, not looking particularly surprised, but lips pursing again. Her gaze rolled over him again, “That’s why I wasn’t sellin. But you shouldn’t be bringing a kid to a place like this. I’d hate to have ta call security on such a handsome face, so you better get leaving.”

Kusanagi scolded, placing a hand on Yusaku’s shoulder, “I’ve got us a room, come on.”

Candi looked alarmed now, stepping forward, heel clicking loudly. “Wait, wait, wait. A room? With him? Now see hear mister! If yer gonna do something weird-”

“No. No, no.” Kusanagi turns back to her, frowning thickly, face slowly twisting in disgust. “He’s...we’re not...no. This is a...you know. Home isn’t safe. We needed a place to lay low.”

Candi’s defensive stance instantly fell, her mouth parting in a small “o”. Any aggression she had melted away, giving way to sympathy as she folded her hand over her heart. “Oh honey, I’m so sorry. You go right on ahead. But no funny business! I’ll have our security there in a mil if you’re lyin’ ta commit a felony. We’re a _classy_ establishment!”

Yusaku frowned in confusion as Kusanagi pushed him away from Candi, deeper into the hotel and down the hall, and all he heard as they disappeared around a corner was a loud, “I’ll see ya later sweetie! Call security if that man touches ya!”

Kusanagi mumbled illegibly under his breath, guiding Yusaku along as he led him to whatever room he managed to rent. 

The room in question was on the second floor. It was a simple thing, one bedroom, two beds, a bathroom with a basic shower, a television, and a closet. The beds were far nicer than Yusaku expected, at the very least. Kusanagi pushed him inside, immediately taking the bed closest to the closet and landing himself on top of it, “Yusaku, don’t open that closet door...and stay away from the television. Trust me, there’s no news stations on it.”

Yusaku frowned again, wondering if Kusanagi had stayed here before. He knows that the older man used to sleep in the back of the hotdog van before finally resigning himself to get an apartment of his own after they’d met, so it’s not beyond the realm of possibility that he’d rent a room somewhere when he felt like spoiling himself. Looking at this from that perspective, it makes sense that Kusanagi would know the best places to hide away without rousing too much attention. 

The teen makes his way towards the further bed, setting himself on it. It’s softer than his bed back home, which is a pleasant surprise. Then again, his mattress is years old, and he’d gotten it used, so it wasn’t too great an achievement. 

He allows himself to settle, kicking off his shoes and folding his legs on the bed. Now settled safely inside, He removes both Kusanagi’s jacket and hat, folding the jacket and laying it on the edge of the bed. Now that he’s here, he doesn’t know what to do, so his eyes flicker towards Kusanagi, lips pinching for a moment, “Now what?”

“I should go get your stuff at some point.” Kusanagi hummed, eyes slipping closed and hands folding behind his head, “And we need to figure out what to do. But for now it’s late, and we should probably get some rest.”

Yusaku frowned, feeling too anxious to do anything of the sort. He had a lot to say, and too much energy thrumming through his veins. His fingers twitched, green eyes flickering down to his duel disk, breath exhaling through his lips. He should share with him what he knows, he really should. It’s important information for planning what to do next. But when he turns to speak to Kusanagi he can’t tell if the man was even awake anymore. He just lay there, breathing evenly, leaving the teen lost as to what to do now. 

In hindsight, he should have figured that Kusanagi was running on fumes. The man has been running about all day, and he’s at least as emotionally burnt out as Yusaku himself. It makes guilt bubble in his chest. The older man has been keeping it together so well, and Yusaku...well…

He hasn’t done anything to help. He hasn’t even been keeping it together at all. Kusanagi was doing all the work, and he was fussing over Yusaku while also probably worrying about Jin and himself. It wasn’t fair to him, and Yusaku can’t help but look away in shame.

He should be doing more. 

Yusaku let out a deep sigh, falling back against the headboard. He probably should sleep, it would do more to help him think, but the guilt and anxiety will never let him relax enough to even try.

So he dug out his phone again.

He knows he probably shouldn’t do this, he knows Kusanagi wouldn’t approve. But he needs...he just needs to do something. He can’t take this anymore. He needs some sort of closure, or some sort of warning or idea of what is going on. So he clicks on the phone, knowing it was a bad idea even as the device comes to life in his hands.

Still over four hundred texts. He doesn’t even bother checking the missed calls. 

He doesn’t bother with them yet, instead going to the web browser and clicking it open. He hesitates, for a moment, not entirely sure what to do or where to start. After a few moments he swallows, deciding to just search his own name. 

He’s never searched his own name before, but he thinks whatever he would have found just yesterday would be worlds different than what he found now.

There are dozens of copies of his school ID printed everywhere, linked to dozens and dozens of news sites and blogs. There are videos of vloggers with him in the icon, and dozens more pictures and screenshots of him as a child in the white room.

He has to suck in a breath and turn the phone away for a minute, regaining his bearings before flipping it back and actually going through what all the articles were about.

Uncomfortably, more than a few were speculations about his location, cries for interviews, examinations to his possible mental and physical health, conspiracy theories about him. And, most disturbingly, there seemed to be live-streams of his apartment complex.

Most worryingly, there were a few side by side shots of him and Playmaker, a familiar set Vrains avatars taking the form of a frog and a pigeon openly speculating to the likeliness that the two pictured were one and the same.

He has to pause again after that, turning the phone around and taking a deep breath before turning it back around again. His eyes rolling over the assorted articles, taking in the wild speculations he assumes is happening from the article titles. Finally, he comes across a headline he hadn’t expected, his stomach hollowing.

_**‘Interview With Dr. Lecter Set For This Friday!**_ ’

Yusaku quickly exited the search engine, dropping his phone beside him and hiding his face between his hands. He took a deep, uneven, breath, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to calm his suddenly rapid heartbeat.

He’d forgotten that prison interviews were something that could happen.

In light of the new information that was leaked, along with the sustainable attention the news was getting, it was very, very, likely that Dr. Lecter would be going through a retrial soon, faced with new charges. Not only him, but Dr. Taki as well. Soon they would both probably be dragged into a very open and public investigation into their additional crimes. And while Yusaku was fairly certain neither of them would be walking free anytime soon with the horrific things they’ve done, he’s also fairly certain he doesn’t want to constantly see their faces across the news streams. 

Would he be asked to testify? Would all the other kids be asked to testify? Likely, and there’d also likely be cameras right in the courtroom as each and every one of them were asked to face their former abusers.

And, what’s more, his identity as Playmaker was very thoroughly compromised. It was very, very, likely that SOLtech would use whatever of their power they had left in the time they had left to defame and criminalize his actions. He could possibly be arrested and thrown into the very same prison his abuser was inside of. And, depending on whether they recognized him as a man or a woman, it’s very possible they could misgender him publicly, and with his...equipment, he could very well end up in the female cells. There already seems to be harsh debate on his gender, going by the articles he’s seen. One speculating if he was just pretending to be a male to further hide from his former tormentors.

It’s sickening. 

He hides his eyes behind his palms, breathing deeply and allowing himself to fall back against the bed. He takes a moment to try and regulate his breathing.

However long he laid there, trying to control his lungs, it was too long, because he could feel his own mental health eroding. He’s not sure how long he spends trying to fight off the inevitable panic attack, but it’s a losing battle. Hot tears slip from his eyes despite best attempts to keep them leaking from under his clenched eyes. He can feel them leaving burning trails down his skin, stinging his cheeks.

He cries for a bit, his breath falling short and burning in his lungs, a silent fit. He hasn’t had a panic attack in a long, long, time. But he doesn’t think he can say that anymore. He’s nothing but a silent, crying, suffocating mess, and the only thing he can do is shove his hands over his mouth to keep himself quiet enough to not wake his companion. 

Things stay that way until an inexplicable warmness washes over him, a strong wave of comfort and reassurance hitting him with force. He sniffed, tears starting to dry as small, cool, hands touched his chin, “Yusaku?”

Green eyes blink open, his voice hoarse when he whispers, “Ai?”

Indeed, the A.I. was there, leaning from the duel disk, beady yellow eyes narrowed in concern. His strangely textured hands set on his chin as he bent over the teen’s face. Yusaku blinks, not sure if this was real for a moment, but the familiar connection burned between them, leaving him very aware that this was, in fact, not his imagination. He sniffed, rubbing his eyes dry. He hadn’t expected to ever see the A.I. again. He’d hoped, down in the sewers, with that brief reassurance from the other. But he had doubted.

“ _Ai_.” He leans up, moving his wrist to hold his duel disk up to his face, letting himself be eye level with his former hostage. 

“ _Yusaku_!” Ai seemed to have taken his lack of negative reaction as full consent to throw himself at Yusaku, hands wrapping over his cheeks in what must be a large hug for him. He cried loudly for a moment, burying his small face into the flesh of his cheek, sobbing out his words, “I came as soon as I was able to track you logging in somewhere! Oh glitch, Yusaku, I was worried sick! Don’t you ever go offline on me again! I’ve been trying to find you all day! But I couldn’t and it sucked!”

“Ai.” He whispered softly, lifting a hand to gently pat the A.I. on the back, trying to comfort him enough that his loud sobbing would silence. “Kusanagi is sleeping.”

“I don’t care! Do you even know how worried I’ve been!” Ai pulls back his head, back leaning against Yusaku’s palm, “Everything has gone wrong! We’ve been exposed! And then when I go to try to find you what do I get? Blocked! You were off the grid! Don’t ever do that again!”

Yusaku didn’t make Ai that promise, because he knew it was one that he would most likely break. 

“I’ve been hiding from the media.” Yusaku told him instead, as an explanation. “I was in the sewers all day.”

“Ew, gross.” Ai dropped his hands from his face, making openly disgusted noises, “That’s disgusting. And I bet you didn’t even shower after, did you? No, you definitely didn’t shower! Because you don’t do things that are healthy!"

“Quiet.” He orders silently, eyes flickering to Kusanagi. He doesn’t seem to have woken from all the noise, but then again, Yusaku isn’t sure he’s not just pretending to sleep. Maybe he’d been pretending the whole time. He doesn’t know. But he hopes he’s really asleep.

“I won’t be quiet until you start making good decisions.” Ai waved his small arms, fists balling as he threw a fit right there in Yusaku’s palm. “Look at where you are! How did you even end up in a place like this?”

A blue eyebrow quirked, “...my hotel?”

“Hotel?!” Ai sounded disbelieving, choking on his own words as he took a moment to stitch together a sentence, “I suppose that’s one word for it.” 

“There weren’t many options better than the sewers.” Yusaku explained to his former hostage, leaning back against the headboard. “You...probably saw why.”

Ai paused, his arms falling down against his sides. He looked down, silently staring at his feet. “...yeah, I saw. How could I not see? We Ignis tried to delete them all, but it was too late by the time we even noticed.”

The teen frowns, wondering about Ai’s “friends”. This must be as bad for them as the victims of the Lost Incident. Though he doubts many reporters have the hacking skills necessary to track down highly advanced sentient A.I. But that didn’t mean they were necessarily out of danger. There were likely hacktivists and just hackers with an agenda in general looking for them. It doesn’t sit well with him, “Are they all okay?”

Ai looks up, golden eyes brimming with emotion. “Yeah...we’re okay. We all decided it’s probably time to look for our Origins though...we’ll, except Earth. Big guy can’t really do that because, y’know, his kid is with the guys trying to kill us. So he’s going between us and trying to act as backup. Poor guy.”

Yusaku clicked his tongue, “So...they’re meeting up with the other victims?”

“Yeah.” Ai crossed his hands over Yusaku’s thumb, his little chin prompting on the tip of his thumb, “Some of them weren’t over sure about it at first, but they were outvoted. The reason none of us went to meet you guys right away was because we didn’t want you guys targeted for being associated with us. But...well…”

It made a sort of sense, he supposed, but he wasn’t sure it was a good idea. There’s already a lot going on as is, and the information regarding the Ignis might not be entirely welcomed. I was a lot to take in, and Yusaku had been heavily involved in uncovering why the Lost Incident had happened. The other victims may not be as receptive to the intrusion into their lives, especially since the Ignis were, willingly or not, the reason behind their kidnapping in the first place. “Is that a good idea?”

“I dunno, none of the others have come back yet at any rate, and Earth didn’t tell me if there were any problems.” Ai shrugged, still leaning against Yusaku’s thumb, “I’m gonna guess it’s going okay until he says something happened.”

Yusaku tries to imagine the few other victims he knew and tries to imagine what their reactions would be. Obviously, Spectre wasn’t going to be meeting the Ignis born from him anytime soon. But he wonders how Jin would react to meeting a being similar in nature to Ai. He can’t picture it, however. Not at all. 

He’ll worry about that in the morning, when Kusanagi is either awake or not pretending to sleep anymore. For now he focused on Ai, “I don’t suppose you have a plan, do you?”

“Well, Lightning wanted to black out the media all together, but that wasn’t very practical.” Ai told him, “So Aqua said we should meet up with our Origins and figure out what they all wanted to do before we decided on something.”

It was at least considerate, maybe. He still doesn’t know what they could possibly do at this point. They’re all pretty big targets as is, so their options were so incredibly limited that his only plan so far was either living in the sewer or changing his name in a different city, neither of which was sustainable to his needs. 

But he might as well share what he knows, “Revolver is looking for me as well.”

“Oh, I know.” Ai squeezes Yusaku’s thumb between his arms, trembling lightly, “I’m...kinda sabotaging him right now.”

Yusaku couldn’t find it in himself to be surprised. Ryouken’s entire purpose in life was to fulfill his father’s wishes, and those wishes involved killing Ai and the others like him. The wisest move would be to keep him as far away from them as possible. Maybe. He’s not sure whether his plans have changed now that the knights have been outed as well. “Any updates on what he’s been doing?”

“Other than looking for you?” Ai tilted his head, “He bought a big ole boat. Like, a huge boat. Two master suites and 7 cabins with a whole bunch of other stuff big.”

Yusaku raised a brow at that, trying to imagine a boat that big. It sounded bigger than his whole apartment.

“I guess sharing a tiny boat wasn’t rich enough for him.” Ai shrugged, “I mean, those guys used to live in whole different buildings. I guess the boat was nice practice for prison though.”

Against his will, his lips twitched a bit.

“...but I’m not going to lie to you.” Ai squeezed his thumb tighter, looking worried now, “I...was kinda hoping you had a plan for what to do. This is all kinda scary.”

“Not unless you have a way to make everyone forget.” Yusaku frowned firmly, “I don’t think there’s anything we can do but hide until interest dies down. But you’re a sentient A.I. and that’s not going to be something people lose interest in.”

“So we’re permanently stuck in the spotlight.” Ai perked up, “We’re celebrities now!”

And then Ai froze, eyes lighting up before he turned his gaze upward, golden orbs meeting green irises, “...I think I have an idea.”

“We’re not going to turn into celebrities.” Yusaku shut the idea down immediately. He was not, absolutely not, about to go down that road. His privacy had been invaded enough, and he wasn’t about to willingly throw himself at the media.

“No, no, you don’t get it.” Ai pushed himself up, leaning forward. “Like, I can make myself all relatable so people don’t want to kill me, and you can be boring and live behind a giant guarded mansion like the boring actors you never see in the news. Problem solved!”

“Big houses need money.” Yusaku stated flatly. “Which I don’t have.”

“Yet.” Was all Ai said, rubbing his hands together, “Yet.”

“Ai, no.”

“Ai _yes_.”

* * *

Ema breaks into Fujiki Yusaku’s house much more easily than she expected for someone that was apparently as paranoid as Playmaker. 

It was fairly simple, really. She just waited until midnight, pretended she was one of the residents of the apartment via assistance from Akira hacking the system, gets past the media and into the building, beelines right to his room, and picks the lock. It was really pitifully easy, especially since all the landlord’s efforts of keeping people out of his apartment complex consisted of calling the police to surround the place and keep the vultures away. 

The apartment is pitifully empty. 

It’s actually a heartrendingly sad scene. She doesn’t know what she expected, per se, but it wasn’t this. A teenage boy living on his own was never going to have the healthiest living conditions, but she expected something. Computer monitors everywhere, empty pizza boxes, posters. But the walls are blank, and the room is neat and perfectly clean. That itself isn’t bad, but the fact it was so empty on top of that just left the place feeling unbearably lonely.

“I’m in.” She holds her hand up to her earpiece, pink eyes flickering over the room. “He’s not here Akira.”

“I thought not.” The deep sigh sounded in her ear, “See if you can find an idea where he could have fled.”

“Okay, but there’s not much here.” She responds, stepping down the stairs into the room, flicking the lights on once she reaches the bottom.

“Master?” A small voice sounds.

Ema jumps, eyes jerking towards the small desk shoved against the wall. There’s no monitor or laptop, and she hadn’t expected there to be. She hadn’t expected anything, to be honest. But, from under the desk, a small maidbot rolled out, her little wheels whirling as it looked up. It was an older model, with customized colors, and it must have been heavily modified, because it expressed disappointment upon seeing that the intruder wasn’t Fujiki Yusaku, making a distressed noise, “You’re not master.”

“Oh, no.” Ema kneels on the ground, hands resting on her knee, “I’m a friend of his.”

“Who are you talking to, Ema?” Akira asked in her ear, but she ignored him in favor of her new little friend. 

“A friend?” The maidbot titled it’s head, “Master has never brought you home before.”

Oh, modified indeed. Seems Playmaker was more secure than she thought. A regular cleaning bot, even a personal maidbot, would be able to recognize who and who wasn’t a previous guest in their home. Time to improvise and see how far the modified programming went. “Oh, I haven’t been around before, but I promise I’m a friend! I haven’t seen him all day, so I came to see if he was home. But he’s not here…”

The maidbot made a distressed noise, rolling up to Ema, reaching out their little mitten hands, “Master never returned home from school! Roboppy is very worried! He’s missed his last two medicine times!”

Ah, not a security bot then, and with a full knowledge to his schedule. He made this maidbot, Roboppy, and oh wasn’t that just adorable, into his personal care unit. Why he didn’t purchase an actual care unit was beyond her…

...actually, she thinks she understands. Carebots are very, very, expensive. It was probably just cheaper to get a maidbot and reprogram it. 

Either way, it looked like Fujiki Yusaku hadn’t risked coming home, and as a result missed on gathering his things, possibly missing out on his medication as a result. Well, that wasn’t good. Not good at all.

“Akira, did you hear that?” Ema asked, touching her earpiece again. 

“Yes.” The man answered firmly, “All the more reason to find him as soon as possible.”

“Rodger.” Ema looked down at the maidbot, lips pursing, and held out her hand, “Roboppy, can you help me figure out where Yusaku may have gone? I’m worried about him.”

Roboppy looked up at her with an innocent trust, holding out their mitten hands, “The only place Roboppy knows that master goes besides school is to the hotdog man’s truck.”

Hotdog man? _Oh_!

“Thank you Roboppy, I’ll find Yusaku and make sure he takes his medicine.” He promised, wrapping her hands around the mittens. 

“Please take Roboppy with you!” The little robot begs, shaking her hand, “Roboppy is very, very, worried! Master needs his medicine!” 

Well, who was she to say no to such a heartfelt plea? “Okay!”

* * *

To his annoyance, despite a whole night of intense, critical, hacking and searching, Ryouken doesn’t find Yusaku until after three mocha lattes and pure, unadulterated, luck. And by pure, unadulterated, luck, he means that the Ignis makes it easy for him.

  
  


**@TheDarkIgnisOffical**

_Yusaku said not to do this, but I’m doing it anyway because humanity is going to harass me anyway._

**@TheDarkIgnisOffical**

_You guys need to stop the media stuff now. Also, the screenwriter of ‘The Doom Digital Dynasty’ just needs to stop in general._

**@TheDarkIgnisOffical**

_Databiteshipping is canon? Really? When Aiboushipping is right there? Shame. #BadWriting_

  
  


The messages are posted on the largest social media account outside of Vrains, and includes a video of the Dark Ignis with a ten minute rant on why the screenwriters of ‘The Doomed Digital Dynasty’ have failed whatever years of education went into their screenwriting careers. All while Yusaku watched in the background of what looked like a restroom, watching with cool disbelief as the A.I. continued his rant. 

Ryouken, upon seeing this, has to take a moment to properly register the sheer absurdity of what he’s seeing. Then, and only then, does he take a moment to sigh, rub his face with both hands, and wonder how this creature was the most dangerous threat to humanity. Only after that mournful actualization does Ryouken grab the image of the background and run it through every database he can. Only for it to show that it’s a very basic design for hotel bathrooms.

Hours of searching video feeds around every shady hotel in the city later, he finally finds what he thinks is Yusaku and his hotdog vender cohort in…

“That man led him into a brothel.” Ryouken’s mind blanks at the realization. He stares blankly at the private security footage for a long, long, time before he slams his hands on the desk, stands up, and storms right out the room, because Yusaku was sleeping in a brothel, with the Ignis trying to expose him and a hotdog vender and that needed to be corrected, immediately, right now. 

A brothel.

A _brothel_.

Of all the places to hide, the hotdog vendor chose a _brothel_. When Ryouken got his hands on him he was going to wring the man’s neck. He's fairly sure the justice system would even blame him for it. Because, clearly, he was doing the world a service. A brothel, really. Yusaku, in a brothel.

Ryouken might need to take the car.

* * *

 **Bonus** :

Florian Bellefeuille isn’t a lonely man.

He’s in his late fifties, and a widow whose only child lives in another country and rarely calls him, but he’s a generally happy and sociable man. He likes to go have dinner out with his friends often, watch the news or competitive duels. And sometimes he’ll go to mass with the Italian lot when he has to confess. His social life is very much alive. 

That said, he’s delighted when he receives a text on his phone while trying to create a glass statue of the Dark Magician, a commission, and he checks and finds, not an invite to drinks, but a text from his daughter.

_Je rentre à la maison avec un invité. Je te verrai dans trois jours._

Coming home! And with a guest no less!

He doesn't know why he's being blessed with this news, but he hopes they stay for a while. It's been such a long time since the house has had noise in it. Every since his wife had died the nights have been a bit quiet in the house.

* * *

 **Bonus** : 

Two months ago, Inina was delivered her ex-husband’s body.

At first she’d thought it was some sort of joke when the Den City Hospital’s morgue called her and explained that a body had been delivered to them with nothing more than instructions to bury it with her. But it hadn’t been, and she had to get up on her day off, call her boss to ask for more days off, and head to a hospital on an island half a country away only to find her ex-husband laying on a stretcher, body cold, stiff, and pale.

It was impressive considering the police called her seven years ago and told her he’d died.

Not that she’d ever believed that, because the restraining chip in her arm was still active, meaning that the chip he’d gotten had to be in a living body. And while her husband was a doctor, he wasn’t that kind of doctor, and she doubts he has the stomach to let them surgically remove the chip and put it into a needle to place in someone else, especially when he could have simply deactivated it if he really wanted it gone. So she was convinced his death was faked. Not that she could do anything about it. Trying to appeal for custody of her son had been firmly blocked by her own terrible reputation.

But that’s not the point right now. Not yet.

The point was, Inina was forced to arrange the funeral for the man that had ruined her life.

As she stood there, looking down at his stiff and cold body, she wishes she had felt something. Loss, resentment, anger, righteous fury, a sense of justice. But the sad truth was that she was just numb looking down at him. Sixteen years was a long time to be angry, and somewhere along the way she’d been burnt out. Now? Now she was just exhausted. 

The doctors present had informed her that they had no actual documentation on the man or his identity, their only instructions being that he be buried next to her, and card number with the name Ryouken Kogami attached to pay for funerary rights.

That’s how Inina learned her son didn’t even know she was alive.

And she’s so tired, too tired for the devastation to hit fully at first. And, more than that, she’s so used to being burned by the Kogami name that she did the only thing she’d ever been able to do after her divorce, sweep away the disappointment and move on. So she collects her ex-husband and sets out to give him a funeral.

While they were married, they had never talked about what to do with each other if they died. Her husband was barely home in the first place, and when he was he wanted to focus on setting up their lives and future together. And she hadn’t protested, because she thought she had time to talk about it with him.

She doesn’t know what he wanted, so she tries her best to guess based on what he wanted. He’s a scientist, so she decides to donate as much of his body as she could, figuring he would like that. And, privately, bitterly, thinking even if he didn’t it served him right. The bastard may as well actually spend his death making up for the lives he’d ruined in life. If his spirit lingers here, then let it spend an eternity repenting for his sins. 

Once she’s left with what is left of his body, she has no idea what to do.

So, left without options, she falls back on the traditions she was raised with. 

It’s too late for a nine day prayer, so she spends his bela, overnight wake, by his side. She doesn’t want to risk going to his home, because if Ryouken was there she’d go to prison, so she explains the tradition to a sympathetic funeral home, and they let her stay by his side and pray for him all night, just she, he, and an uncomfortable security guard where a whole community should be. She’s supposed to pray for an easy afterlife, for him to find joy and freedom from this weary world and celebrate him. She can’t, she’s too bitter, too tired. And even if she forgave him, she doesn’t have the right to forgive him on behalf of the others she knows she failed to keep him from hurting. So instead she prays for him to spend whatever afterlife he has repenting for what he’s done.

And when the sun rises she goes with the funeral home workers and has him naturally buried in the cemetery nearest to the beach because she can’t afford a coffin and tombstone. The funeral is a solemn, sad, affair. With a body buried in the ground and tired workers there, no one but her to actually pray over him as dirt is disposed on top of him. There’s no co-workers, no family, no friends, no colleagues, not even his son. There’s only a woman he’d divorced singing songs in a language he wouldn’t have understood and men being paid to throw dirt on him. It’s rushed, it’s cheap, it’s sad. 

“Is this what you wanted out of life?” She asks the tombstone hours later, still waiting for someone, anyone, else to show up. Her hands are in her pocket, and she wore casual clothes to the event, and her hair isn’t done up in more than a loose ponytail. Not funeral worthy. “I’m the only one that bothered with you.”

But dead men don’t answer questions. 

So she left that day with no sense of closure, only more exhausted than she’d ever been, and she charts herself back to Neo-Domino knowing her son thinks she’s dead, and his father never spoke of her, and knowing she wasted three days on a man that ruined her life. And she made it home and collapsed against the bed, and slept that whole night and managed to only shed a tear or two.

Then she woke up and went to work, and life went on. 

She thought that would be the last of it, that she’d never deal with the Kogami name again.

So how was it that, here and now, a mere two months later, she was being hounded on all sides by flashing cameras and microphones as people threw question after question at her at such a rapid rate she couldn’t even process them?

She doesn’t know, but she hopes her family in Hawaii are stewing in guilt over not believing her when she said her husband was a fucking liar.

“All I can say is this…” Inina told them, ignoring their questions and nodding her head, “...I told you. I told all of you, and none of you believed me. Well, turns out I was right and SOLtech, Den City, and Queen owe me an apology.”

The reporters went wild at that, shouting more questions, but really, she only had one thing she wanted people to know, “I’m suing for the right to see my son, by the way. I don’t know if he wants to see me, but that suing part is happening.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yusaku, oh Yusaku, are you okay Yusaku!  
> No, no he is not. He is very much not okay and never will be. 
> 
> And here we have Candi! The creation of a friend of mine, hi KatiasXIII, I hope you're happy you got that scene of Yusaku getting advice from a classy gal in the Red Light District. By the way, yes, they're in the Red Light District. It looks kinda like Wallmarket from FF7 in my head. Oh, and also Kusanagi apparently knows that well, make of that what you will. 
> 
> Yusaku, honey, do you even know where you are? The answer is no. He's confused and panicking, give him a break.
> 
> Ema, please don't kidnap worried robots. That's bad.
> 
> Poor grandpa is actually really lonely.
> 
> Inina is also lonely and very tired. She and grandpa should be friends and talk about how they never get to talk to their kids.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for Ryouken and his continuing uncomfortable methods of realizing and recognizing his own feelings.

* * *

**Mamihlapinatapei** (Yagan): The wordless, meaningful look shared by two people who both desire to initiate something, but are both reluctant to do so.

* * *

Reuniting with Ai makes being in the hotel a little easier to bear. He still doesn’t feel safe, and he’s very much uncertain, but having the A.I. with him again is unexpectedly comforting. Even if Ai did insist on being ridiculous. 

So after a few minutes of simply watching Ai confiscate and take over his phone, Yusaku shook his head and decided not to resist letting the A.I. go along with his mad plan to gain support from the general populace with “internet clout” or whatever. So when Ai was done pre-recording a video where he did a lot of complaining about bad writing and a couple that shouldn’t be together getting together when a better, more sensible, option was right there, Yusaku could only robotically pick up his duel disk and move his companion back out of the bathroom, dropping him on the bed. “Don’t wake Kusanagi.”

“I won’t.” Ai waved at him, but the A.I’s attention was truly on the phone, his small hands moving around the screen and pressing buttons with his palms. Yusaku watched him, for a bit, then decided that his time could be better spent doing other things. 

Like trying to sleep, maybe.

The bed was very big, and nice, and the comforter was very, very, soft looking. It was definitely nicer than his secondhand mattress at home. So stared down at himself, frowning at his filthy clothes, wrinkling his nose and picking at his sleeve. His uniform was the softest daytime outfit he owned, but even then it was terrible for sleep with his sensory issues. And, what’s more, it was filthy and smelled like the sewer. 

He sniffed his wrist and recoiled at the sent. 

Yusaku sighed, moving towards his emergency supplies and trying to find a decent shirt to replace his, only to come to the terrible realization that, yes, he had gone through a growth spurt since he had been twelve and first made the pack. He held up the too small clothing, frowning, before dropping it with a sign and going through the room to see if he could find something suitable. 

Luckily for him, he does find a bathrobe. It’s a short, silky thing, but it will do until he can send Kusanagi to get his stuff in the morning, he supposes. So with a resigned sigh he held it lofty by the metal hanger and entered the bathroom, clicking the door shut softly and locking it. 

It’s a fancier bathroom than he’s ever been in. There’s a separate shower and tub, and stacked around it are all sorts of candles and things he vaguely recognized as bath bombs. There were also all kinds of lotions and bottles of other things probably used for some kind of self care. Whatever the case, he doesn’t think he’s going anywhere near them. Those look like the kind of luxury items they charge you extra for using and he’s not about to do that to Kusanagi’s wallet. 

Instead he hung the bathrobe off the sink and entered the overly elaborate shower. It was spacious, and had a built-in seat in any case, which seemed strange to him, because this place didn’t seem otherwise very accessible for anyone that may need some kind of seat.

Oh well, he wasn’t going to question it.

What he was going to question were the complimentary soaps and shampoos. Or, at least, he hoped they were complimentary. They were tiny enough to be, but they didn’t seem like the plain and clinical kinds he’d seen at other hotels back when he was in foster care and the families would drag him along on vacations. These were...strange. He picked one up one of the soaps, turned it in his hands, and read the name on the bottle aloud, “Rose Jam.”

That was an odd name for a soap, but he wasn’t going to question it. He didn’t care as long as he wasn’t running up Kusanagi’s bill. 

With a resigned sigh, he put the bottle of wash down and began actually stripping his clothes, peeling the dirty layers away from his overly sensitive skin and discarding them just outside the shower door in a heap. His fingers traced over his binder, which he still hadn’t removed at all. Probably one of the reasons he was having such a hard time breathing earlier, but it had been hard to remember with...everything happening. 

He wishes it hadn’t felt so good to remove it and toss it aside. Because now he stood in only his boxers, breasts hanging out in a strange shower. An experience that had been a nightmare during the early stages of his life. Now all he can do is be grateful his breasts are small and the dysphoria isn’t too noticeable. Not right now at any rate. After how terrible the last few hours have been, simply being able to breathe easily means he’s better off. 

It’s with that line of thinking he sheds his boxers and throws them out, now fully nude and ready to get this shower started. 

The water is warm against his skin and feels so good on his sore body he can’t do anything but stand there with his head held back, letting it wash over him for a solid minute before he can even begin moving. He grabs the fancy shampoo and washes himself, then risks the conditioner just because it’s there and he’s never used it before. Not in recent memory anyway. It’s a strange process that he’s failing to see the point of so far. 

The “Rose Jam” is a strange mix of smells that leave his senses a little overwhelmed. Some strange mix of vanilla and lemons with what he assumes is supposed to be roses. It makes his nose itch badly, but it’s soft and surprisingly not irritating on his skin like his regular store brand bar soap. The scent lingers, too, long after the lather has been washed from his body, and his skin feels almost strangely soft. 

He hopes he didn’t accidentally use the expensive shit.

The warm water never runs out, so he stays there another minute after he’s done washing, just letting the aches and pains of the day fade from his body with the cascade. Eventually, though, he shuts off the knobs, knowing he needs to step out and try to get some sleep. 

The towels are the basic kind in every hotel. Papery and white, just enough to get you dry, which seems surprisingly cheap when the soaps and such had all been very quality stuff. But he doesn’t begrudge a business cutting corners where they can get away with it, doing so would just be a waste of time in a place like Den City. So he just accepts the familiar feeling of scratchy towels running over his skin, only a little more irritating than normal due to how much more sensitive he feels right now. 

The bathrobe is...much different. 

It’s made of some sort of silk or satin, and it’s cool to the touch. The sleeves are far too wide and hang loosely off his arms. But while they may be the only excessive part of his clothes, they’re not exactly the only loose fitting part. It’s like this thing was designed specifically to annoy him. It only fell half way down his thigh, it has a v-neck that shows off too much of his throat when you folded it as far as it would go around his body, and it felt like he was too bare wearing it.

It was better than putting on his sewer stained clothes, he supposed, or trying to squeeze into his shirts from age twelve. So he resigned himself to sleeping in it. Besides, it would only be for a few hours, and he had the thick blankets from the bed. So with yet another sigh he accepted his fate as a rose smelling, red silk wearer for the night and stepped out of the bathroom.

Kusanagi was, thankfully, still very much asleep, which was good because three in the morning wasn’t a time he wanted to wake the older man. Ai, however, was very much awake and glanced up from the phone when he opened the door, only to go bug eyed and drop the expensive technology. “...holy shit.”

“Don’t say anything.” Yusaku demanded, moving towards the bed and removing both the phone and Ai, moving them to the side far enough so that he could, shifting under the thick duvet and letting the weighty blanket fall over him. 

Holy shit, this felt good. Apparently he likes heavier, thicker, blankets. He’ll have to keep this in mind for the future. He lets his eyes slip shut, humming contently as his body finally relaxes into the mattress. 

He thinks he would have fallen asleep right there from a mix of sheer exhaustion and unfamiliar content if Ai hadn’t spoken, “You look like a porn star.”

Green eyes blink open, annoyance bubbling within him now that Ai said such a thing about him, “And how would you know what a porn star looks like?”

“I live in the internet.” Ai reaches for the phone again, holding it up, “I know what porn stars look like. And you look like one in that sleepwear.”

“It’s all they had.” Yusaku defends lightly, turning on his side and deciding he is not going to let himself be mocked like this. “Goodnight Ai.”

“You don’t look any less like a porn star laying on your side.” Ai comments, and Yusaku can feel one of his tiny hands touching his back through the thin robe. “I bet you look more like one actually.”

“Goodnight Ai.” He repeats, a bit more snappish this time, and slips his eyes closed, determined to get some sleep tonight so he’ll be ready to face tomorrow. Even if it was only a few hours. He lets the exhaustion take over, ignoring Ai’s pestering and slipping into what would hopefully be a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Technically speaking, Ryouken probably shouldn’t be leaving the safety of the mansion in an expensive car, where any of the media falcons could swoop in for their scoop and stalk him to his less than reputable destination. 

But then again, Yusaku, as a traumatized sixteen year old, shouldn’t even be in the Red Light District.

Tanned hands slam the car door shut just a little too loudly, his hands finding the steering wheel and squeezing maybe too hard. He takes a deep breath, but it does little to calm the sheer, boiling, rage slowly building within him. It seems that’s all he’s been feeling lately, rage and fury. 

He mentally pours over what little of Yusaku’s leaked files he could bare to read as he starts up the car, hitting the engine button and letting the vehicle purr to life. Yusaku is sixteen, has been in and out of foster homes all his life, and lived in an orphanage before that. No known biological parents, no known relatives, and no stable adult in his life aside from a therapist who was currently in prison for severe child abuse, an employee SOLtech threw under the bus much like his father. Except this one fucking deserved it. Who abuses a lonely, traumatized, little orphan…

Ryouken forces those thoughts in the back of his mind and focuses on the issue at hand. Yusaku is a sixteen year old in a love hotel that’s likely never had a reliable sex talk in his fucking life. At least not one that wasn’t a clinical school talk. Retraction, Yusaku probably had a sex talk, but the likeliness he never had a talk about affirmative consent was startlingly low. 

It makes the fact that Yusaku is there, in the Red Light District, in a love hotel that doubles as a brothel, all the more rage inducing to him. Yusaku is a strong, unforgiving, force of rage. A billowing storm destroying everything in his path. But that’s as _Playmaker_ in Vrains. As Yusaku, in the real world, someone with his strong personality would only be provocative to the kinds of people that frequented those establishments, and he likely doesn’t have the physical strength to fight them off.

If he fought them off.

‘ _Subject displays deep attachment issues_.’

Ryouken’s hands tighten on the wheel again. He leaves the garage, the car’s noise filling his ears. He tries to let that noise drown out his thoughts, but they persist, like a leech sucking at his thoughts. The thought of some scumbag recognizing one of the victims of the Hanoi Project and deciding it’d be exciting to take a chance to seduce them, sweet talking someone whose whole life had just been ruined mere hours before, someone vulnerable and lost with nowhere else to go…

Boiling. His blood is boiling at just the thought. Never mind that this is Yusaku, cold and seemingly suspicious. He knows that facade is a lie. It had been so _easy_ for him to take Yusaku home back then. And even after everything that happened he still wanted to _build a future_ together. He could try all he wanted to pretend he was properly paranoid and suspicious, Ryouken knew full well he was a naive and trusting _idiot_.

And if someone took advantage of that then he doesn’t think he can trust himself not to ruin a few lives. After putting them through a window. With his car. 

The gates open automatically, and there actually are a few reporters camping outside. It’s amazing that they’re awake at six am, but then again pests never seem to sleep. The scramble to surround his car, microphones in hand and trying to beat his windows. He’s suddenly glad he got them tinted, if only because he doesn’t want his face plastered across the media. 

Like Yusaku’s and the other victims are right now.

He barely withheld a sneer from forming on his lips, pressing the gas pedal and speeding away from the reporters, hastily escaping from their swarm. He’s speeding right now, but he doesn’t give a shit, not on this abandoned road. Unfortunately, he was forced to slow down and mingle as he entered the city, and it’s traffic. 

Fortunately, it seemed even with the overabundance of traffic in the city now, no one seems to have been able to track and memorize his license plate number, so he joined in the sea of cars easily. 

Den City, despite being the head of software technology in the world, typically wasn’t very traffic heavy during the day. That’s because most of the people that lived within or around the city itself tended to use the many subways and bullet trains to get around. Only the wealthier citizens and those with food trucks or tourist rides typically use the roads. 

Night was another matter.

It seemed like everyone wanted to be out at night. And it’s not too crazy of an idea. This was a tourist city as much as it was the capital of software technology. There were bars, and night time attractions, not the least of which being his current destination. Add on the fact that a whole world shattering scandal had been dragged into the light the literal day before, and it was the early morning hours when the sinners of the night scuttled home and the early workers were rising, and Ryouken’s trip was agonizingly slow.

It took him an hour to get there.

Den City’s Red Light District is rather infamous, and located right next to the gambling hub of the city. It’s full of more clubs and bars than Ryouken could count, and every corner has something going on, and prostitutes and call girls hanging off arms. It’s very hard to miss once you cross a certain line, especially since the whole place is deliberately lit up with red and neon lights. 

Ryouken is forced to pull into a parking deck, which is too far from his ultimate destination for his liking. Now that it’s early morning, and the sun was steadily creeping upward, the ruckus that overwhelms this place has mostly died down. That doesn’t mean it’s empty by any means, it most certainly is not, but people aren’t crowding the markets and sidewalks. Daytime filled the visitors with shame, it seemed. Ryouken took a page from their book, keeping his head down and eyes sharp behind a pair of expensive shades as he beelined straight for the building he knows Yusaku is hiding within.

No one better have laid even a single hand on him.

Even just looking at the building fills him with a seething, vile, rage. He can feel it bubbling to the surface, thick as bile and threatening to spill over. He’s actually paralyzed by that rage as he looks up, taking in the sight of the building holding his...his...rival inside. Possibly the home of further abuse, and most certainly the home of Kusanagi Shoichi’s murder if anyone even eyed the sixth victim.

Really, a _brothel_.

It’s only just after he’s made his way inside that he realizes he has no idea which room Yusaku is in. This makes him pause as he tries to resolve how to fix this particular conundrum. It was unlikely Kusanagi booked a room under their actual names. Establishments like this didn’t exactly demand proof of identity. 

But Kusanagi likely used his bank card. Or at least he hoped so. A man like him doesn’t usually carry around cash.

With no other actual plan outside of storming the entire building and pounding on doors until he found the boy he wants, Ryouken shuffled over to one of the velvet couches, plumping down and pulling out his phone to do some quick hacking, ignoring the prostitutes seated around him, fluttering their lashes and bending forward to show off their breasts, hoping to pull in the obviously wealthy customer. But he wasn’t in the fucking mood to play nice, so he ignored them, focusing breaking the brothel’s shabby security. 

No wonder so many people used fake names and cash, this security was easier to break than Den City High School’s. And that had been painfully easy. He had a list of records in no time, so he searched for the familiar number to Kusanagi’s bank accounts.

Nothing. Fucking nothing.

Ryouken nearly growled in frustration. Fine, fine, it figured that Yusaku wouldn’t make it easy to find him. Looks like he’ll have to do this the hard way after all. And when he got his hands on him…

Later.

He scrolled back through the list, this time memorizing every name that was marked as having paid in cash. There were no less than twenty-three rooms that had done so. Then, because he’s hopeful that Kusanagi isn’t a _complete_ idiot and had rented a room for he and Yusaku to share instead of sleeping separately. Surely, even a fool like he wasn’t foolish enough to leave someone in Yusaku’s position alone in a place like this, where anyone could soop in and take advantage of him. 

Then that left the issue of whether or not Kusanagi was stupid enough to share a bed with a truamatized teenager in a brothel. 

Ryouken, more for his own peace of mind than any actual belief in the older man, decided to have some faith in Kusanagi’s intelligence and check which rooms where double beds paid in cash.

...there were five…

Ryouken sighed, knowing the likeness that any of those names existing in a database s actual identities was...unlikely to say the least. Meaning that he’d have to check all five rooms. Fine. He’ll do it, and if Yusaku wasn’t in them then he’d tear through the rest of the hotel. He’ll bang on every single fucking door if he ha-

“That’s a pretty ugly frown fer such a pretty face.” A woman places herself right next to him, throwing herself into his personal bubble. He sighs in irritation, turning the phone away from her, turning to glare at the red haired woman.

“I’m not interested.” Ryouken told her bluntly, glaring harshly at the woman, hoping to make it clear that no amount of attempted seduction would work in her favor. “So leave.”

“Oh, I didn’t think you were.” The red woman pursed her lips, crossing her legs and leaning back against the seat, “I just figured ya were waitin on someone. Ya lookin on that phone like ya got dumped.”

“Yes, there’s someone else. Now leave.” Ryouken tells her, mostly playing along to get her to leave, but also painfully aware how honest this answer is. Resentment wells within him at the very thought. He doesn’t understand why, of everyone and anyone he could have caught feelings for it had to be _him_.

If he examines it objectively, it makes sense. The sixth test subject had been the lynch pin behind many of his more obsessive emotions he developed. It was meeting him that started Ryouken’s involvement with the Hanoi Project, it was encouraging him that would someday lead to his father’s downfall, it was watching him in particular that caused him to finally break his silence and call the police, leading to his father's subsequent imprisonment and coma. Then it being fixated on him for ten years, hoping that at least he saved him, if nothing else. Then it was fighting him in an act of redemption, it was obsessing over him again, it was failing.

He supposes with all that, he couldn’t help but develop a desire for the boy. 

“Oh, wazza matter? Chu fight with em?” The woman clicked her tongue, “Kids these days, all fighten each other all the time. What’s wit chu?”

It’s really none of her business, and it seemed quite rude of her to ask.

But she kept talking, “Had another pretty boy ‘ere earlier that had’a fight wit his boy. Pretty thing. Most gorgeous green eyes ya ever did see…”

That peaked his interest.

It was almost too much of a coincidence, he absolutely didn’t even believe it. But he was never one to pass up an opportunity when it presented itself, so he decided to fish for information, “...did he have blue and pink hair.”

“Oh! Yeah! Not my pick o’ colors, but it worked fer…” She trailed off as she spoke, her eyes widening as she leaned forward, “Ya looking fer the darlin?”

The likelihood of anyone but Yusaku stopping by here, of all places, tonight, was very, very, slim. So it must be him. The confirmation both brings him relief and only more rage at once, and the idea that Yusaku had been approached by this same woman leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

“I happen to know him.” Ryouken turns his phone face down against his thigh, turning to her, “I’ve been looking for him, but he won’t answer his phone.”

The woman hums, watching him closely before turning up her nose at him, “Not sure ah should tells ya. If ya had a fight with yo mans that bad.”

A fight with his-

Ryouken squares his jaw. It’s...not technically untrue, even if she’s not exactly wrong. They are, technically, fighting. And they are, technically, parted on less than civil terms. And, also technically, they are enemies at his own insistence. 

But the situation has changed since then. And while he’s still more than ready to destroy the Ignis, he also needs to make sure that Yusaku doesn’t find himself exploited by SOLtech or _assholes in brothels._

“I need to find him.” His fingers tighten into fists, “I can’t leave him here.”

“Ya shoulda thought ‘bout that fer you fought bad enough fer him tah run off ta here.” The woman turned her nose up at him again, huffing loudly. “Maybe next time ya won’t drive em inta the arms of another man.”

_Into the arms of_ -

Ryouken has to take a deep, calming, breath to keep himself from snapping at her. He sucks in air through his teeth, forcing his temper down. It was just Kusanagi, he assured himself. It was just Kusanagi.

It _better_ just be Kusanagi. Yusaku was sixteen, and just because underage prostitution was a thing that was unfortunately overlooked in areas like these, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t sue this place into the ground the moment he had evidence that such felonies took place here. He could probably do it now. He’ll sink this whole damn place _right now._

“Ya need to calm ya piss.” The woman, kicked her leg a bit, leaning against her hand, “Ya not gonna get ya mans back by actin like a grouch.” 

“Did you see what floor they went to?” Ryouken barely keeps from hissing. “Do you know what room he’s in?”

“Oh hun, Candi Applé don’t snitch on no boy.” The woman wagged a finger at him, as if he was a silly little child, “If you want him back ya gonna have ta get on ya knees and beg that boy ya own self.”

Ryouken bit his own tongue, holding back a frustrated demand. The last thing he needed was this woman calling security on him before he could find Yusaku. With an annoyed sigh he stood up, resigning himself to bang on a few doors and find him.

“Before ya leave, let mama Applé give ya some advice.” The woman uncrossed her legs, smiling wide at him as she leaned forward, “Ya ain’t gonna catch ya man with vinegar hun, honey is the best solution. Soft boys like that? They need all the sweetness they can get.”

Ryouken frowned at her, brows knitting together, “How would you know?”

“Ah been in the business long enough ta tell these kinda o’ things.” The woman shrugged, blowing him a quick kiss, “Vinegar is nice an’ all, but ya some people crave suga. Ya seem like a spicy boy, an’ ah bet he likes that, but be sweet sometimes. It’ll be betta, ah promise.”

The white haired boy frowned, wondering why he was bothering to listen to a single thing this woman said. She neither knew him, nor did she know their situation. She didn’t even know Yusaku, and he highly doubts the other boy divulged his romantic and sexual preferences to her. The boy was private enough, afterall. 

But she keeps talking, winking at him, “So make sure ya drink plenty o’ pineapple juice darlin’, it’ll make other things taste sweet too, if you know what I mean.”

He absolutely did, and the thought made the memory of what he did just last night flash across his mind, the lurid fantasy of the blue haired boy between his thighs flashing across his mind and leaving his face feeling more than warm. He turned away from her, face flushed, “We’re done here.”

“Good luck darlin, ya better apologize fer whateva ya did.” The prostitute sounded amused, but he ignored her, marching towards the first of the doors he planned to search for his target. If she planned to actually stop him, then security was alarmingly slow and it was all the more reason for him to be concerned.

Ryouken knocks on two doors and unfortunately finds two whole orgies happening before his very eyes before he finds Yusaku.

By now his temper is thin, his patience has very well run out, and the sheer fear and worry he feels for the boy is causing his brain to actively itch. He’s seen things today, and heard things, and he can't help but imagine horrible things by the time he’s banging on the third door, cursing whatever gods exist for his luck and daring the world to stir him wrong this time.

It takes time, but eventually Kusanagi, wearing piss poor disguise, opens the door, “I already pai-”

The purple haired man’s word trails off as he spots Ryouken, his eyes going wide with shock, then narrowing with anger. He hissed, grip tightening on the door as his voice lowered into a dangerous whisper, “What are _you_ doing here?”

“I should think that would be obvious.” Ryouken isn’t in the mood for this game, “Where’s Fujiki?”

“None of your business.” Kusanagi’s eyes narrow dangerously, and his voice drips with venom as he speaks, “Leave. He doesn’t need this right now.”

“I’m not leaving without him.” Ryouken’s own eyes narrow, “I don’t think you realize just how dangerous merely existing has become for him.”

“And what are _you_ going to do?” Kusangi hissed, like a viper striking, looking to inject that venom straight into his heart, “Going to lock him in a room again?”

Ryouken actually winced, guilt crawling up his chest and threatening to devour him from the inside out. His fist clenched at his side, and he held down bile at the thought of Yusaku trapped in another white room all over again. Because of him. “Of course not.”

“Then what can you do?” Kusanagi hissed, still glaring at him fiercely, “Other than help him out and then rub it in his face how much you _regret_ it.” 

Another blow, straight to his heart, and another sting of guilt, this time clawing like vicious talons through his veins. It’s a horrible, sickening, feeling. But he’s not going to just stand here and take it, not at all. So he squares his shoulders, summoning what’s left of his strength, letting the bitter anger from the night fuel him as he spits out his answer, “I’ll be more help than leading the _underage trauma victim_ to a _brothel_.” 

“What else was I supposed to do? Everyone in this fucking city is looking for him.” Kusanagi hissed, grip hard on the door frame, “Hiding him isn’t exactly easy.”

“That’s right, it isn’t, and _this_ was the best you could do.” Ryouken snapped standing tall as he met the older man’s gaze head on, throwing his hand out. “ _This_ is what you can do. And it’s _not_ good enough! You can’t take care of him.”

Kusanagi looks slapped by those words, but his glare only intensifies, and his lips turn into an all out _snarl_ , “And you can? What are you gonna do? Put him on that stupid little boat of yours with the people that electrocuted him for six months? Make him live with the people that abused him with no way to escape?”

“Of course not!” Ryouken snapped, and he hates how defensive he sounds. “Not at all. They’ll be...elsewhere.”

“Oh god.” Kusanagi lets out a bitter laugh, “You really are gonna put him on that tiny ass boat and sail away.”

“No.” Ryouken snapped again, a little bitterly. He’d bought a bigger boat, thank you. “But even if I did, it’d still be better than a brothel.”

“Go home Kogami.” Kusanagi demanded firmly, jaw clicking. “I can take care of him just fine.”

“Oh, really?” Ryouken demands, tapping his foot impatiently, a hand resting on his hip and the other hanging loosely by his side, “You can take care of him _and_ Kusanagi Jin?”

It was a low-blow, Ryouken knew that, but Kusanagi had taken a few low blows himself. And he even had a brief, shameful, moment he felt satisfaction at the stricken look on the other man’s face. But that passed soon enough, and guilt ate at him again. But he refused to let it show, instead squaring his shoulders definitely and doubling down. He’d already said it, so he would make his point regardless, “Can you really promise to take care of both of them? What if you have to choose which one not to sell out? Who would you choose?”

Kusanagi actually hissed at that, looking more like he’d been stabbed than that he’d heard something harsh. Ryouken swallowed the guilt down again, refusing to show any remorse, and simply took advantage of the situation, pushing Kusanagi aside and forcing himself in the room, “That’s what I thought.”

Kusanagi isn’t as much resistance as he could have been, considering he was likely physically stronger and more built. He must be more affected by the words than Ryouken had even suspected. But he doesn’t allow himself to dwell on it, instead focusing on studying the room. 

His eyes immediately settle on the singular sleeping form in a second bed closer to the window, duel disk waiting on the bed-side table.

For a moment, all Ryouken can do is stand there as sheer relief washes over him. He’s okay, he’s just sleeping. There’s no foul perversions, or manipulations, or horrendous anything. It’s just Yusaku, sleeping, in a bed. As safe as he can be considering everything going on.

The sigh that leaves his lips carries all the tenseness in his body, and his shoulders shag a little. He doesn’t know how Yusaku was able to get any sleep, but he’s not going to begrudge the boy either. It’s almost a shame Ryouken will have to wake him, from what he’s seen of the younger boy’s records he’s plagued sleep issues. But he was also sleeping in a brothel, so he wasn’t inclined to let that go on any longer than necessary either. 

He marched right up to the bed, staring down at the sleeping boy a little while longer. Even in sleep Yusaku didn’t look at peace or rested. His brows were drawn together, face twisted slightly in pain. It makes his stomach turn again, because Ryouken can guess what nightmares are taking place. And suddenly Kusanagi’s animosity makes even more sense. He wonders how long the older man was watching this nightmare happen.

Suddenly Ryouken had absolutely no problem waking him. He seizes the blanket with both hands, snatching it up to sling across the room.

Only for his mind to immediately blank.

There’s a white noise in his head as his mind blanks. He doesn’t even register Yusaku snapping awake at first. Nor does he reister the boy scrambling up, or speaking, or anything other than what he’s wearing. And what he’s not wearing. There’s...not a lot.

It’s rare that Ryouken finds himself speechless, but this was definitely a moment where words were simply not happening. 

“Ryouken.” Yusaku’s eyes were blown wide with surprise, his lips parted slightly. His defensive stance eased, which didn’t actually help him at all because now the other boy was starting to relax, face falling into his default neutral expression. Which looked a lot different when he was leaning against a bed frame with the nape of his neck showing off and a whole lot of leg on display. His skin was unblemished by anything but fern like scars from years before. And yet he still somehow smelled like sex.

The sight is doing things to him he very much does not want, and he is very, very, happy he hasn’t actually let go of that blanket yet. 

“You found us already?” The ignis emerges from within Yusaku’s duel disk, peering from over the edge like some sort of infuriating child, “ _Awww,_ I was hoping it’d take a little longer.”

Luckily, the ignis served as a good enough momentary distraction. So he turned to it, glaring, pretending any heat on his face was sherry fury, “Silence you.”

“No! You barged into our room and woke us up. I’m not the bad guy here.” The ignis emerged further, pointing at him accusingly, narrowing its eyes like he was the one somehow in the wrong. “And now you’re in here being a peeper!”

“Excuse you?” Ryouken’s hands tightened around the blanket, eyes narrowing dangerously beneath his visors. 

“You just yanked that whole blanket off Yusaku like some kind of pervert!” The ignis accused, shaking that pointing finger. “Admit it! You _wanted_ to sneak a peek!”

“I hardly knew he was wearing…” Ryouken waved a hand at the...the...outfit. He turned his attention back to Yusaku, trying not to show how much it affected him. “Why _are_ you wearing... _that_?”

And what would it take for you to wear it again, on a yacht? What would it take to get you to take it off? Those are the things he does _not_ ask, but rest easily on the tip of his tongue. He’s only realized he caught feelings a few hours ago, but it seems like the realization has opened floodgates, and now he can’t help but want this. And seeing so much skin, but also not nearly enough, is doing things to fry his brain.

Yusaku frowned, looking down at himself, “It was the only thing in the closet.”

An awkward silence fell over them after the simple sentence, neither one of them knowing what to say to that. Ryouken was half tempted to ask why he hadn’t simply slept in his school uniform, and if he knew how easy it would be for some deviant to break into here and rip off that flimsy thing, but he kept his mouth firmly shut, having a strong feeling he didn’t want to know the particulars that lead to Yusaku wanting to wear...that.

_You knew I was coming,_ his mind can’t help but think. _You little minx, you knew I was coming and wore that to seduce me. You couldn’t convince me with your words and your eyes alone so you decided to use your body._

It was an absurd thought. Devious as Yusaku can be, Ryouken doubts he was insidious enough to try to seduce him when Kusanagi was present. Then again, could he really be so sure? He has an objective knowledge of Yusaku’s character based on past actions. He knows Yusaku can be bold, determined, calculating, even ruthless in his own ways. But Yusaku is also painfully naive, and earnest, and honest. 

No, Ryouken decides, this wasn’t planned.

But _by god_ he wishes it was, because he’d like nothing more than to punish Yusaku for wearing something like this in a _brothel_. Looking and smelling like a virgin sacrifice ready to be pushed to the ground and used until he couldn't remember anyone but Ryouken's nam-

He needs to stop right there. Right now.

“Where are your clothes?” Ryouken demanded, snapping his eyes away for the red-clad form because he doesn’t know how much longer he can stand to look at Yusaku’s naked legs. “Put them on, we’re leaving.”

“Oh? And where, exactly, are you going?” Kusanagi seems to have regained himself sometime between their confrontation at the door and now. Or, perhaps, he sees what Yusaku is wearing too, and he can sense _exactly_ what Ryouken wants to do to that body. Judging by the fiercely protective way he stands, trying to tower over them, he thinks it’s a safe bet.

“To anywhere that’s _not_ a brothel.” Ryouken is glad he’s wearing visors, because he’s not actually glaring at Kusanagi at all. He’s pretending he is, with his face frimley facing the older man, but really he can’t stop side eyeing Yusaku’s exposed neck. “We can hide on my yacht for a few weeks until the media dies down.”

“So you _are_ trying to put him on that boat.” Kusanagi hisses like a snake, sizing up like he read to strike Ryouken. “I don’t fucking think so.”

“I have more than one boat.” Ryouken spits back, ready to whip the man with this overly heavy blanket, “I’m not an idiot. I wouldn’t put him near them.”

“No, you’d just do it for that other kid.” Kusanagi spits right back. 

“Spectre wants to be around them.” Ryouken really is ready to kill this man. He has no right to drag the other boy into this, not when Spectre chooses to be there. “He’s a proud member of the Knight’s of Hanoi.”

“I’m sure it’s not worrying at _all_ that the kid’s coping mechanisms involves being constantly surrounded by his abusers.” Kusanagi bites, aiming for that weak and guilty spot in his heart all over again with a smile that is anything but kind. “I’m sure that the _esteemed_ doctors in the Knight of Hanoi did _everything in their power_ to get him all the help and medications he needed to understand his feelings from _being tortured as a child._ ”

“That is none of your business!” Ryouken snaps defensively, because they had, in fact, never taken Spectre to seek psychological help. He hadn’t seemed to need it at the time, but now Ryouken is starting to think that Kusanagi has a point, and he _hates_ it. He can’t even truly recall if they ever had Spectre examined for physical aftereffects of what happened. If there were problems with pain, he never mentioned it.

He wouldn’t have even thought about it if it weren’t for the leaks. And he’s ashamed to admit that, because one of the things ever last one of the other children had been noted to have aside from PTSD was excessive nerve damage that would leave them with chronic pain. Did Spectre have chronic pain as well? Had he been going without pills and help for years simply to avoid being an inconvenience. Mostly likely. It was something he’d do. And it makes Ryouken feel like a failure for never having noticed even after ten years.

“You want to storm in here and take Yusaku, acting like you have the answer to everything, but you can’t even take care of the kid you already have in your custody.” Kusanagi spit viciously, “And you think I’d let you walk out of here with him? To such a neglectful environment?”

Yusaku seemed to have had enough of this argument and physically stepped between them, using his body as a shield to keep them from leaping at one another and tearing themselves apart, “That’s _enough._ Arguing isn’t getting us anywhere.”

The ignis peered between them, eyes screwed like it had been enjoying the whole argument, “ _Yeah_ , Yusaku is right, we won’t get anywhere if everyone that wants to keep us out of the media are too busy trying to rip each other to pieces.”

“You stay out of this.” Ryouken rounds on it, still wanting to fight, but unwilling to look directly at Yusaku because then all that anger and frustration will go straight to his dick and that’s the last thing he needs right now. “Your social media campaign is the reason I was able to track you down so fast.”

“I’m sorry? His what?” Kusanagi turns to the ignis, eyebrows hitting his hairline, “You did what now?”

“Listen, I’ve already been exposed, I might as well go all out now!” The ignis pat his own chest, and Ryouken could swear it was wearing a mocking smile. “Might as well let them know the real me! And the real me is shipping trash!”

“You made a social media account when we’re in hiding?” Kusanagi is scolding now, “Ai! This is serious! Our whole lives have been destroyed!”

“And we need to adjust to that!” The ignis countered, waving its arms wildly, “It’s too late to go back to anonymity! We’re known now! What else am I supposed to do? Hide in the corner like a rat? No! I’m taking charge of this situation! If I’m going to be exposed, then I’m going to be exposed on my own terms!”

Ryouken could only stare in disbelief at the sheer nonsense the ignis was spouting. He chanced a glance at Yusaku, and he did not like the almost thoughtful expression painting the boy’s features. Clearly, he put too much trust in the creature’s absurd ideas. Like making a social media account.

Well, he wasn’t having it anymore.

He turned to Yusaku, seizing him by the wrist, turning the other boy’s attention onto him. Stand up close like this, it’s easier to tell he’s a bit taller than the other. Good, he likes that, he likes that a lot more than he should. And he likes the way Yusaku looks up at him, eyes slightly wide, caught off guard. His expression slips back into that careful neutrality in a blink, but Ryouken has already memorized the shock. “Fujiki, come with me.”

Yusaku’s face is carefully, painfully, neutral as he examines Ryouken’s face. Once again, he’s glad he has the visors to hide what must be a look of ravenous hunger in his eyes. Whatever else exists on his carefully schooled features must not sell his proposal, however, because the blue haired boy merely responds with a flat, “Why should I?”

“Because I can protect you.” Ryouken has to keep his grip from becoming iron-clad. “They’ll never find us on my ship. And I have everything you need. Access to food, water, medication, internet. You’ll be safe from harassment until it dies down. I can even arrange online schoolwork for you.”

“And why would you do that for me?” Yusaku interrogates, not gently, but not with Kusanagi’s hard venom either. “You’re the one that insisted we were enemies.”

“Because the situation has changed.” That part is at least honest. The situation has changed so rapidly that he has whiplash from it. In a single night enemies have been destroyed, people have been exposed, and truths Ryouken hadn’t even thought were hidden from him have come to light. 

Like his _mother_.

He shakes off the thought, there are more important things to worry about right now. “I can keep you out of the media’s eye without you constantly being on the run. I can arrange for you to speak with them on your own terms if you’d like. I can make sure you live comfortably, all you have to do is come with me.”

“Sounds a little too good to be true.” Kusanagi speaks skeptically from his place, eyes still narrowed in a glare, this time at Ryouken’s hand on Yusaku’s wrist. “Yusaku, don’t run off with this guy on a boat. You won’t be able to come back, and I don’t want to leave you alone with him.”

“Where else can you go?” Ryouken demands of the older man, “Where else can you possibly go? Everywhere in Den City is crawling with people looking for you.”

Kusanagi clicks his mouth shut for a moment, not having an answer. But he speaks nevertheless, stubborn as any man, “I don’t feel comfortable letting you sail off with this guy, and I can’t leave Jin here by himself.”

Yusaku’s green eyes flicker between the two of them the whole time, carefully regarding each of their words. Finally, he sighs, turning to Ryouken with that carefully neutral look, “What about your mansion? Isn’t it guarded? We could go there. Then Kusanagi wouldn’t be leaving the city.”

He hadn’t considered that.

It had never even crossed his mind. His mansion on Stardust Road was a variable fortress. Gated, private, no neighbors for a long while, mostly empty, spacious and with access to everything they needed. It was, objectively, perfect.

But…

His father had died in that house.

It was a large, empty, house. And his father had died there, and Ryouken had let it happen. He had stopped the program that would have saved them all. All because of a promise he made to the boy whose wrist he held right now. His father had died in that house only two months ago. That house had been nothing but ghosts for years, and he can’t even remember a moment that wasn’t filled with aching loneliness. 

He’s never known the house as anything other than a den of aching loneliness, a place where happiness goes to perish. No decorations or feelings of home, just a place to exist until he wasn’t so alone anymore.

He tries to imagine Yusaku in that house, living there, in that little red robe of his. It’s slightly better to think of that. It feels right to have him there, another presence he desperately wants filling the space. But he still can’t imagine anything but blank white walls and empty rooms. Yusaku only fills empty space so much by himself, but he doesn’t breathe life into that empty home. One where his father’s ghost would forever linger.

The yacht at least came pre-furnished.

“It’s an empty house.” Ryouken grits his teeth, “There’s very little there.”

“Buy some furniture.” Yusaku looks away from him, “Or another mansion, you have the money. I’m just trying to negotiate something that both you and Kusanagi can agree with.”

He’s right, he’s absolutely right. Yusaku will never willingly come with him so long as Kusanagi resists, and Kusanagi will never stop resisting so long as he thinks Yusaku will have no back up or escape. Unless Ryouken wants to outright kidnap Yusaku, there were very little options on the table.

And he doesn’t ever want to kidnap Yusaku again, not after everything, not after last time.

And there’s no point buying another house, not when he has a fully functioning one in a perfect location. And, perhaps, in time, he can convince Yusaku to take the boat anyway. He had time, plenty of it if he knew anything about the media. 

“Fine.” He begrudgingly agrees, feeling bitterness on his tongue, “We stay in my mansion, Aso and Gerome can stay on the boat. Kusanagi is welcome too. For however long we’re needed.”

“And one more thing.” Yusaku turns to him, holding up his three fingers. “I have three rules.”

_Of course_ he does. 

“What are they?” Ryouken grits, already knowing he’s not going to like this. “Name your conditions.”

Yusaku’s green eyes drill into his own, his face set in a familiar determination.. He turns slightly, holding up a single finger in his free hand, “One, Kusanagi and I can leave whenever we want. If we change our minds, you can’t stop us.”

He doesn’t like it immediately, but it’s to be expected. He can’t exactly keep them prisoner. So he grinds out a hard, “Fine.”

“Two,” The second finger goes up, “You guarantee neither of us will even hear Dr. Aso or Dr. Gerome’s names.”

That was easy enough, he had no intentions on walking into that battlefield. “Understandable.”

“Three.” The third finger went up, and Yusaku’s eyes narrowed slightly as his gaze started to burn, “You can’t harm Ai.”

_Unreasonable_.

“It is my mission to destroy the ignis, or have you forgotten that they are an active threat to humanity?” He hisses, grip on that too thin wrist tightening dangerously. “Or have you forgotten that point of contention between us?”

“Hey!” The ignis protested, “I’m no danger to anyone except your ego! Now let go of Yusaku before I find and post embarrassing photos of you!”

Ryouken ignored him in favor of Yusaku’s burning gaze.

“The situation has changed.” Yusaku snatched his arm back, narrow eyes still unknowing meeting his gaze perfectly, “Either you put a halt on your mission, or I don’t step foot into your mansion. I’m not going to let you hurt Ai.”

“You have nowhere else to go.” Ryouken tried to reason with him, tried to make him see that this was _foolish_ . “You have no plan, no resources. Surely you can’t throw away this chance for the _ignis_.”

“His name is Ai and he’s my partner.” Yusaku is unforgiving, “I’m not asking you to give up your mission, I’m asking you to halt it for however long this lasts. Then you can go right back to your boat and your mission to destroy a sentient and self aware species.”

It’s a painful reminder of just how divided they are, one that makes his insides twist painfully. This. This was the problem. Yusaku had been found by the ignis first, and had given his trust to it. And just like Ryouken had done when he was younger, it was leading Yusaku to his own doom, and he was following happily because he keeps giving his heart to the wrong people.

Not this time.

This time he would save Yusaku before tragedy struck. He just needed time, just enough to make him see that he was right. And to do that, he needed Yusaku close. It was a long shot, but this was the best option he had.

“Fine.” He spit. “Temporarily.”

It seemed Yusaku honestly hadn’t expected him to agree, because he was rewarded for his choice with a wide eyed stare, lips slightly parted in honest surprise. Even the ignis and Kusangi made shocked noises from their places, but Ryouken’s attention was all on Yusaku’s lips.

He tries very hard not to think of those fantasies from last night as he finds words, “I have a car, we can go right now.”

“Whoa, wait, really? We’re moving in with Revolver just like that?” The ignis demands, stretching tall from the duel disk, “How did this happen?”

“Kusangai’s best plan turned out to be a brothel.” Ryouken answered simply. Then, because he doesn’t want anyone else seeing Yusaku looking like he’d just walked fresh out of a wet dream he asks, “Where are your clothes? Get dressed, we’re going.”

“Covered in sewage.” Yusaku answered simply.

Ryouken paused, almost wanting to ask _why_ , exactly, his clothes were covered in sewage, but decided he didn’t want to know. He doesn’t think he could handle it if the brothel turned out not to be the worst plan these imbeciles had. So he throws the blanket around Yusaku’s shoulders instead, “Fine, I’ll buy this blanket from them. Let’s go.”

“But my clothes-”

“I’ll buy you new ones.” He doesn’t even let them finish. He’s already ushering Yusaku to the door, leaving Kusanagi to scramble to gather everything with the ignis. They knew where he lived. They could catch up. He has the blanket wrapped firmly around Yusaku, and he doesn’t give a shit how heavy it is. “Leave them to burn.”

Yusaku could just wear his clothes when...they...got...home…

_Fuck._

* * *

**Bonus** : A Moment Between Father and Child

_“Hush little baby,  
_ _Don’t say a word~  
_ _Daddy’s going to buy you a mocking bird~”_

 _  
_ _  
_ A pink haired man sits on the edge of a large mahogany desk, an infant cradled in his arms. His white suit is perfect and pristine, and his shoes are shined to perfection. Because he loves the glitz and glamour. He was brought up on gambling, after all. A dealer in a casino. It’s where he learned how to spot bullshit. It’s made him very successful. Ah, but if you asked him about the past and how he started his business, he’d have many different answers, none of them honest. Maybe he’s even lying right now. Who can say?

_“If that mockingbird don’t sing,  
_ _Daddy’s going to buy you a diamond ring~”_

One thing that’s true is that he’s never loved anything more than he’s loved the small, waddling, creature nestled in the crook of his arm. His little Yusaku, just a month old and already holding his icy black heart firmly in those little fists. His mother may be a gold digging bitch to outdo the rest of them, but this kid? This kid has his whole ass soul in his tiny little hands.

_“And if that diamond ring don’t shine,  
_ _Daddy’s gonna go out and ruin some lives~”_

The babe can’t possibly understand the words, but Yusaku makes a happy noise. That icy black heart melts, and King is sure he’d burn this entire fucking world to the ground just to keep this kid laughing.

“King?” A voice interrupts through his intercom, and it takes everything in King’s power not to shoot the damned thing. “Dr. Kogami and his family are here to discuss negotiations for his latest proposal.”

“Right, right.” He stands up, poking his child on the nose, “It’s time for you to go with nanny, Yusaku. Can you be good for nanny until the meeting is done?”

Of course, as a baby, Yusaku can’t say shit. But he likes being poked in the noise, because he laughs. It takes King’s whole heart with it, and the sound alone is going to keep Kogami from being shot today. Also, King doesn’t shoot people in front of their kids. Also he doesn’t actually shoot people. But the man won’t file for bankruptcy this year, at least, so there’s that.

“Ready my hologram.” King orders, “I want this over with as soon as possible. And make sure the nanny doesn’t let Dr. Kogami near my kid. I don’t care about his kid, but that guy creeps me out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, I didn't expect Kusanagi and Ryouken to get so nasty this chapter. But I guess I should have expected that. Kusanagi may recognize that Ryouken is just a kid, but he's also one that needs a reality check I suppose. Also, Ryouken is riding high on feelings and shouldn't even be outside right now. Ryouken, honey, what the hell are you doing?
> 
> Yusaku, honey, run. You're making a terrible mistake. Go, for your own safety. Please. Just flee for your life honey bun. 
> 
> But seriously, though, I didn't expect Ryouken's scene to go on as long as it did. I suppose that it was never going to be easy to confront Yusaku though. You'll just have to wait for the rest I suppose.
> 
> In the meanwhile, here's a glimpse at King maybe a week or two before Inina's downfall and his his death! He's basically Rufus Shinra meets Panic at the Disco with pink hair. Originally, he was just my idea, but then I bounced ideas off of my friend Katias, and like with Candi, he took a life of his own.


	7. Chapter 7

* * *

**Forelsket** (Norwegian): The indescribable euphoria experienced as you begin to fall in love.

* * *

When one spends most of their developmental years overseeing the building of the most fierce and feared cyber terrorist organization in history, one tends to miss out on key developmental moments in their life. Thus, logically, when these developmental moments finally catch up to the person in question, it leaves one stranded in unknown waters and unsure what to do.

Yusaku is standing in his house.

Ryouken hadn’t really thought about what this would mean on the drive over. He’d been far, far, far too focused on getting the thinly clad and blanket wrapped boy off the streets of the Red Light District, away from wolf whistles and catcalls, and shoved into the passenger seat of his car. Then he hadn’t been thinking the whole time he drove home, once again bleeding into traffic and folding through the media still outside his home, something that had his passenger slinking down into his seat and covering his own head with the blanket despite the tinted windows. 

It’s only now, long after parking and pulling his new temporary housemate inside that it hits him that they’re going to be living together in this house.

And Yusaku enters the house for the second time in his life, that thick duvet still draped over his shoulders, the stark wine red and Yusaku’s blue and pink hair standing out against the empty white of everything. His guest takes a tentative step forward, then another, then another, until he’s standing in the middle of what would pass as a living room if there were anything inside. His feet are bare, brushing against the too clean white carpet, and he turns to face Ryouken. “You weren’t lying about there being no furniture.”

“Did you think I was?” Ryouken asks, slipping off his visors now that he’s inside his own home again. He takes a few steps forward, not bothering to remove his shoes, listening to them knock against the hardwood flooring of the entranceway, stopping just before he reaches the bleach white carpet of the living area. “You’ve been here before, you should have noticed.”

“I only saw two rooms.” Yusaku reminds him, turning to stare at the blank, white, walls with a frown, “I figured you probably had something in the rest of the house.”

Yusaku figured wrong. His father had been careful to remove all traces of his mother from the household, and as it would turn out, his mother had most likely, like the decorations, been in charge of all the furniture. But whatever furniture she had must have been sold or thrown away, with only those few boxes carefully hidden out of sight put away.

He’s surprised his father hadn’t thrown them out too, considering removing his mother’s presence from the home wasn’t the grief of loss. Or perhaps it was. Perhaps he did love his mother, perhaps removing her from their home had been grief from the sting of betrayal. He doesn’t know, he’ll never know, because his father is gone now.

And the boy who’d inadvertently killed him is standing in his living room. 

Kusanagi brushes in through the doorway behind him, his tennis shoes echoing as they, too, thump against the wooden flooring. Ryouken had honestly forgotten the man was with them in his rush to get away from everything, but now his presence burns as he stops right beside him, hands planted on his hips, a critical eye on the living space as his lips twist with open disapproval. “You don’t have any furniture.”

“I told you both the house was empty.” Ryouken reminded him, his voice a little more barbed than he was willing to be with Yusaku. 

“I thought you were being hyperbolic.” Kusanagi told him, moving toward the empty kitchen adjacent to the living room. He threw open the cabinets, but the only thing he would find were a few plates and some glasses. He threw open more cabinets, but whatever he was looking for wasn’t there, and he made this known with a loud groan, “You don’t have any pots and pans.”

“No.” Ryouken shrugs, not seeing the problem. “We never needed them. We just ordered food to be delivered.”

Kusanagi threw him the most disgusted look over his shoulder, silver eyes narrowing judgmentally as he turned to glare at the refrigerator. He opens it, but there’s nothing inside but expired creamer and milk. The man makes groans again, turning back to him, “Do you even know how to cook?”

“We didn’t need to.” Ryouken shrugs again, “Like I said, I ordered food. If you have enough money, anywhere will deliver.” 

Even Yusaku just stared blankly at him. Though that was Yusaku’s default state, so Ryouken didn’t put much weight on the look. Kusanagi was the one acting mortally offended by his words, stating with equal flatness, “That’s not going to fly anymore, you know that right? With all the media attention and such.”

He’s right, reluctant as Ryouken was to admit it. The last two months on the boat has been an exploration of eating through pre-cooked rations and whatever Gerome cooked up, because he was the only one among them that _could_ cook. It was an adjustment for certain, and it will be an adjustment to try and feed himself and his two guests and Spectre while they’re living here. Where do people that aren’t rich even get food? There’s stores specifically for that, he knows this, but how do they decide what they need to cook dinners every night?

Whatever the case, Kusanagi seemed to decide his kitchen wasn’t up to standards. He stood up, clapping his hands together, eyes rolling over the counters empty of anything more than an expensive coffee maker, “I guess I’ll just have to bring my stuff from Cafe Nagi.”

It seemed a sensible enough solution, but because it was made by Kusanagi he finds himself wanting to rebel on principle. So he does, dismissing the man’s suggestion casually, “No need, I’ll buy whatever we need.”

The older man gives him a flat look, unimpressed with the casual flex of wealth. Instead he crosses his arms, speaking almost condescendingly, “Oh, will you? Do you know everything you’ll need?”

“No, but you do.” Ryouken hasn’t ever used his actual card before, preferring online monetary transaction programs, but he does have one on him at all times just in case. He flips it out of his wallet, tossing it to the man. “Go buy _everything_ you need. Buy to your heart’s content.”

The indigo haired man frowns even as he catches the wallet, eyeing Ryouken blankly. Yusaku stood in the living room, tugging at the blanket awkwardly, green eyes shifting between the two of them than towards the floor as he realized the contest happening between them, even if he didn’t understand that, in a way, the fight was partly about him. Not entirely, but partly.

Finally, Kusanagi spoke again, “Do you even have a rice cooker?”

“No.” Ryouken sighed in annoyance, already tired of this little game, “I don’t.”

Kusanagi wrinkled his nose again, likely mentally adding the device in question to whatever mental list he was making for the kitchen. “And you call yourself Asian.” 

“I’m half pacific islander.” Ryouken defends reflexively, without even meaning to. He’s only known that particular bit of information for about a day and a half at best, but it seems relevant, like he has to say it. And it makes sense, makes him feel something, like the skin naturally tanner than his father could ever manage finally means something. 

“They eat rice.” Kusanagi shoots back easily.

Do they? Ryouken doesn’t know. He’s never once looked up anything about the pacific islands or their indeginous people. He actually doesn’t know anything about them or their culture, much less what they eat. Is rice a regular part of their diet? 

Would he have known if his mother was present in his life?

He thinks so. The household decorations hidden in their home all seemed imported and exotic. She must have had some ties to that culture, he thinks. She must have been proud of it, maybe. Or maybe those are just the things she grew up with, things she associated with home. Would she have cooked for him? He doesn’t know. All he knows about her is what’s in those leaks. 

“I wouldn’t know that, now, would I?” Ryouken bites back, because if Kusanagi read the leaks at all he must know the bitter story behind his parents and their divorce.

But, going by the confused furrowing of Yusaku's eyebrows and the unyielding hardness of Kusanagi’s gaze, he thinks maybe they haven’t read all of the leaks yet. It’s both a relief and an annoyance, because that means Kusanagi was sensible enough to keep Yusaku from reading all of that, but it also meant that both of his guests were absolutely going to crawl through that trash at some point. Because Yusaku is nothing if not stubborn, and so is his accomplice.

He let Spectre read the leaks, he reminds himself. But Spectre actually liked the experimentation. He felt like it gave him a life purpose. And, what’s more, Spectre disappeared from record after he ran away from the orphanage. He didn’t have a list of specially picked therapists to sabotage his recovery like Yusaku did. And it scares him to think of that, it hadn’t even even occurred to him that SOLtech would actively sabotage the other children’s _therapy_. It should have, he knows very well how insidious that company could be just based on how they handled his father. But he’d been too caught up in his own grief and loneliness he hadn’t even wanted to think that the other children were anything less than protected. And it terrifies him in a way he can’t begin to comprehend knowing that they’d gone out of their way to sabotage those children, that they’d _constantly_ had their eyes on Yusaku, that he was an easily obtained resource should the need arise. That Spectre could have very well been in the same boat. That it was only Spectre’s discontent that saved him. That it was only Yusaku’s unshakable will that saved _him_.

Ryouken can barely comprehend the blue haired boy’s strength given this new context. Nor Spectre’s luck.

_‘Arrested after an anonymous tip to the police after exposing Subject Six to psilocybin mushrooms in an attempt to rewrite existent memories of the Hanoi Project. Suspect acting therapist Hiroshi Aki to have witnessed the event. Solution: Cut ties with Dr. Lecture and let him take the blame for any discovered abuses._ ’

That could have easily been Spectre.

It _was_ Yusaku.

He forces himself not to think about it, reminding himself that he’s in the middle of an argument with Kusanagi. So he turns to the man, trying not to take in the sight of Yusaku standing there in his living room and looking too small underneath that blanket, the Ignis peering out from the ancient and clunky duel disk hanging off his too thin wrist. No, he forces his eyes on the healthier and angry Kusanagi, because that’s easier to face, “Get whatever you need. Assume it’s everything.”

“Can you even name a kitchen appliance other than the coffee maker?” Kusanagi asks again, giving one last fruitless look over the kitchen. “Anything at all.”

“I wasn’t kidding about assuming we need everything.” Ryouken tells him again, crossing his own arms this time. “If you’re done mocking my kitchen, we can move on.”

“I would never mock such a nice kitchen, just the sheer waste of it going to someone that never uses it.” Kusanag laments, his grey eyes going to Yusaku and frowning again. “Do you own _any_ furniture?”

“No.” Ryouken gives another tired and frustrated sigh, rubbing his forehead in order to fight off the headache this man is giving him. “None. Absolutely none.” 

“Then where are Yusaku and I supposed to sleep?” Kusanagi demands, foot tapping impatiently on the floor, hands finding his hips again. “I hope you don’t expect us to sleep on the _floor_.”

Of course not, that’s why he bought a fully furnished boat. Because there were two suits and seven more cabins with two beds each on it. He hadn’t planned to stay in the mansion. He still doesn’t want to stay in the mansion. “Buy a bed too, I don’t care.” 

“Buy a bed, he says, like it’s really that easy.” Kusanagi muttered to himself, “I can’t just buy a bed and carry it in here. I have to go pick one out, get a mattress and blankets, have people haul it over and carry it in, put it together. Not exactly something we can do right now, and it’s not like you have a truck.”

This wouldn’t be such an issue if they had just agreed to live on the yacht, Ryouken laments.

“Kusanagi…” Yusaku steps into the kitchen, the blanket now only loosely hanging around his shoulders as he grows more comfortable with the space, giving a good look at his long, pale, neck. Another frustration to add to this whole conversation. And that frustration only grows when Yusaku speaks in _his_ defense, “It’s fine, I don’t mind sleeping on the floor.”

“No.” He and Kusanagi both speak automatically, in unison. He hates that they agree on anything at all, but it seems they’re forced to do so when it comes to Yusaku’s own lack of care with his own damn health. He might need to come to terms with agreeing with Kusanagi over this, because Yusaku doesn’t seem like he’s going to break out of his shitty self-care habits anytime soon, going by the look of twisted frustration on Kusanagi’s face.

“I have a sleeping bag.” Yusaku defends lightly.

“No.” The both speak, again in unison. He hates it so damn much. 

“I slept on worse.” Yusaku states with brutal honesty, shrugging. “I slept on a dog bed before I could afford my bed in the apartment.”

That statement causes Ryouken to pause. Kusanagi, it seemed, was not privy to this information before either, because his jaw actually dropped open in shock. Ryouken sighed heavily, making peace with the fact that he most certainly _is_ going to need to work with Kusanagi where matter’s of Yusaku’s healthcare is concerned. So he turns to the older man, adding bluntly, “Get Fujiki the most expensive mattress you can find. We’ll make sure he’s hidden when it’s delivered.”

“Right.” Kusanagi nods, no longer fighting on the manner of the beds. Yusaku opens his mouth to protest, but Ryouken isn’t about to let him, “You don’t get to say anything, you’d sleep on a dog bed if I let you.”

Yusaku shuts his mouth at that, but he looks annoyed by the dismissal. Ryouken, frankly, doesn’t give a shit. He addresses Kusanagi again, wanting to finish this conversation, “Buy all the furniture you want, no bright colors.”

Kusanagi wrinkles his nose, “At least give me a budget before you kick me out to do your furniture shopping.”

“My budget is rich enough to buy a few more mansions.” Ryouken isn’t even ashamed of flexing his wealth in the man’s face, willing to take any victory he damn well pleases at this point. “Spend all you want on furniture. Go wild.”

“Rich enough to buy a few mansions. No colors.” Kusanagi’s lip twitches, “God, I bet you only want black and white furniture too, don’t you?”

“Yes, that sounds perfect actually.” Ryouken nods in agreement, pleased with the idea of keeping it so simple. “Get furniture like that.”

“Yusaku is going to go blind in this place.” Kusanagi complained, rolling his eyes upward. Then his gray eyes settled back onto Ryouken’s blue, looking just tired now, “I bet you want to put Yusaku in a white room too.”

That caused Ryouken to pause, his fists curling at his sides. That was a damn good point, one he hadn’t even noticed. Yusaku was a PTSD ridden mess of a human being, it’s very likely being stuck in a white, colorless, room would cause quite a few panic attacks. It makes his jaw clench just thinking about it. Had Spectre ever had issues with the emptiness of the house? With the color of the walls? He enjoyed the experiment, so probably not. But would he have preferred color?

Ryouken thinks very hard, trying to recall what Yusaku’s shithole apartment looked like, only to realize he’s never seen the inside. Fuck. 

“Fine, buy colors. No warm colors.” He gives in, he hates it, he hates giving into Kusanagi badly, but he’s not willing to risk Yusaku’s mental health just because he’s feeling petty. 

But even that is stopped, because Yusaku steps forward, the blanket only loosely held around his body now, “Wait.”

“What? What else do you need?” Ryouken isn’t begging, but his frustration is starting to leak into his voice as he turns to Yusaku. He’ll give the boy anything, absolutely anything, he needs. But he wishes that Kusanagi would just go ahead and get what the necessities instead of having everyone stand around and remind him how ill prepared he was to take care of them, how terribly he had taken care of Spectre as well.

Yusaku frowned, looking up at him. He shifted the blanket further over his shoulders, probably trying to be decent. But it’s his words that Ryouken found himself more focused on, “This is _your_ house. You don’t have to decorate it if you don’t want to.”

The silver haired boy frowned, an unfamiliar emotion burning in his abdomen. 

Yusaku didn’t notice, turning to Kusanagi, “This is Ryouken’s home, he doesn’t need to change anything just to fit us. We’re his guests.”

The fact that Yusaku was even bothering to defend his tastes made Ryouken’s whole stomach turn, and he suddenly felt an odd sense of shame. Because, no, he didn’t keep the house empty because that was this taste, he just legitimately never even thought twice about filling his house. Embarrassment burns in him, and he starts to wonder _why_ he’d never bothered. He’s sure he had a reason, but he finds it hard to think of it beneath the humiliation he felt now. 

“It’s fine…” Ryouken muttered, looking out one of the giant windows, out at the sea, “I don’t care.”

“No one has a right to come in and demand you change your home, Ryouken.” Yusaku insists, and he can easily imagine those green eyes burning on him intently, “It’s your home, you should get to decide what to do with it.”

That's right, it was his house. He owned it. It was his to paint, and fill, and burn to the ground if he wanted. But he doesn’t want to burn it, because he needs it. But, at the same time, he doesn’t want to change it either, because it’s always been the same, and if he adds things, if he paints the walls and hangs up decorations, he might not recognize it anymore.

But it might not be so empty either. Maybe, if he fills it, he’ll eventually forget this was the house his father died. 

But that left him not knowing what he wants to do with it. He’s never decorated a house before, he doesn’t even know where he’d start. 

Except…maybe…

“...I have a few decorations in storage…” He looks back to Yusaku, whose stony face gazed at his own, “My mother’s things, I suppose we could pull those out and fill up the space. Spectre could help us.”

The younger boy simply nodded, not judging or questioning him at all. “Alright, if that’s what you want to do. We can worry about the rest later.”

“I get we’re respecting space and all, but you’re not getting out of having a bed, Yusaku.” Kusanagi cut in, not giving an inch, “And we still need kitchenware.”

“Then get a bed, and kitchen supplies, but leave the rest for Ryouken to decide on.” Yusaku shrugged, shaking his head. “If he wants to buy furniture at all.”

A part of him does. A part of him wants to fill the empty space, to forget the awful memories that happened here, just to see if he could. Maybe then this house will finally feel less like a place where ghosts dwell and more like what a home probably feels like.

“We’ll find time to buy furniture later.” He decides. He doesn’t know how to furniture shop, but it couldn’t be too hard. Spectre would help him. And maybe Yusaku would help him too if he asked. The younger boy has been living on his own for years, he bought his own bed, he probably knows what to do. “When Spectre is here.”

“Alright.” Yusaku nods again easily. He steps forward, letting the duvet fall to the floor carelessly, leaving him in that _damn_ robe again as he stepped out of the bundle on the floor. “I’ll help you get those decorations out.”

“Not before we put you in clothes you’re not.” Ryouken snapped maybe a little too quickly. Yusaku jerked back, like a startled deer, and Kusanagi gave him the most withering look he’d ever seen on a human face. 

“I have no clothes.” Yusaku told him blandly, “You rushed me out before I could collect my uniform.”

“I hope the brothel burns that thing.” Ryouken tells him bluntly, turning away pointedly, “I told you already, I have plenty of clothes, you can borrow some.”

It was a terrible mistake to offer that, but it would be worse to leave Yusaku in that _thing_ until Kusanagi could finish his mission to fill their house with the necessary resources for living. 

“Your clothes will be too big on me.” Yusaku pointed out just as blankly, because he isn't happy unless he was trying Ryouken’s patience. Didn’t he realize what he looked like in that thing? Did he not realize the danger he was in walking around his house dressed like that?

Of course not, because less than twenty-four hours ago even Ryouken didn’t know that.

Worst twenty-four hours ever. 

“Wear a belt.” Ryouken shot back, moving forward and decidedly not looking back at his new houseguest. “Come one, we can pick out a room for you on the way. Good luck with the shopping Kusanagi.”

He didn’t stop walking, effectively dismissing any and all attempts to continue this conversation. He hears Kusanagi and Yusaku hurriedly sharing some words, then Yusaku’s rapid footfalls as he rushes down the hall, trying to keep up with him.

For a bit they walk in silence, nothing but their footfalls and the distant sound of cleaning bots hard at work keeping the house pristine. Finally, it seemed the Ignis could not stand the silence, and decided to speak on Yusaku’s behalf, “So, Revolver, how long do you think we’re all gonna be living together in this little paradise?”

Ryouken purposely didn’t bother addressing that thing.

He doesn’t move to face Yusaku until he reaches his room, the one furthest down a hall full of rooms, the one with the biggest window. He grabs Yusaku’s thin wrist, tugging him inside, leaving him in the middle of the room while Ryouken pulls open his neglected closet, shuffling through his clothes to find the smallest thing he owned in hopes it would fit Yusaku. 

He tosses one of his older pink v-necks and some of the more worn jeans that he outgrew last year. They should fit, if nothing else. So he tosses them towards his guest, and Yusaku catches them without even a word, only looking down at them and staring at the material intently. 

“I’ll just...step out.” Ryouken states once he realizes that Yusaku needs to change into those clothes. He coughs into his hand, stepping out of the room and shutting it behind him, letting out a breath he’d apparently been holding, pressing his back against the solid door.

Alone now, even if just for a moment, Ryouken finally feels his body relax. He mentally rolls over his checklist of tasks, finding it far, far, easier to do so knowing that he can account for everyone affected by the leaks. So far, everything has fallen into place. Yusaku is here, as is his Ignis, and if Ryouken can play his cards right then maybe he can make the boy finally see reason. He has Spectre safe as well, and two of his lieutenants accounted for. All he needs to do is make sure Kyoko is safe. If he can break her out of her cell all the better. Though, he fails to calculate a perfect opportunity to do so. He’ll need to check what the prison plans to do with her.

But first he should focus on immediate tasks, ones that don’t need planning. 

The white haired boy let his eyes flicker towards the room directly across from his, Spectre’s room, considering it for a moment. His longtime housemate will probably be happy to have his own room back, at least. And he’ll want to keep a fairly close eye on Yusaku.

Privately, Ryouken does as well. 

He pushes himself off the door, to the room next to him and swinging it open. It’s a mistake, he knows this. He should pick a room much further away. But he doesn’t _want_ to. And it dries his throat as he steps into the empty room, trying to picture what he’d put in here. The blank white walls mock him, as does the white carpet. The only thing that will keep Yusaku from a panic attack is the fourth wall, which is a window much like Ryouken’s own. He hums, bringing a hand to his chin and trying to imagine what color he’d need to have the walls painted to best prevent flashback or panic attacks. Obviously nothing white. But what? Weren’t cool colors supposed to be calming? Something blue maybe? Yusaku was very blue…

“Ryouken?”

He froze, shoulders tensing for a moment. Of course Yusaku dresses quickly, he shouldn’t have expected otherwise. Mentally preparing for what he’s about to see, Ryouken turns to face his perfect enemy. 

Yusaku looks good in his clothes. 

They’re two big for him, so the v-neck falls a little too far down, and the short sleeps leave far too much space around his upper arms. It’s not much better than the robe had been. At least it was loose fitted and not perfectly form fitting. And the pants were much better than the exposed leg, even if they were ill fitted and the ends had to be rolled up around Yusaku’s ankles.

“That’s much better.” He manages to say, and it is. But at the same time it’s really, really, not. Because he likes this. He likes Yusaku being in his clothes. He likes it a lot.

Yusaku hums, playing with the v-neck for a moment, showing a little too much of the skin between his chest. It’s distracting, as are his arms, which Ryouken had never seen bare before. They’re covered in the electrical scarring, spread like vines up those arms and around his neck, where the electrocution would have made contact.

Lichtenberg figures, Ryouken’s mind supplies as his eyes trail the branching scars, that’s what they’re called. 

He hates himself for wanting to reach out and touch them. Yusaku doesn’t seem to take care of them as much as Spectre does. His long time housemate buys all sorts of lotions and body butters to try and make his skin stay healthy and make them fade a bit more so Ryouken didn’t have to see them. But Yusaku hadn’t had that luxury, and his scars stand out a bit more, especially against his startlingly pale flesh. Perhaps, from a distance, someone would be able to tell they were there, but here, a few feet away, they’re an undeniable reminder of just how brutal Project Hanoi had been. A permanent reminder dyed into Yusaku’s very skin. 

“Look at Mr. Revolver! Being a peeping tom!” The Ignis accused, forming on Yusaku’s duel disk and pointing accusingly at him. “Stop perving on Yusaku you gross predator!”

“ _What_?” Ryouken jerks back, eyes widening at the blatant, and very much true, accusation.

“Yusaku! You don’t have a bra! Cover yourself!” The Ignis launches itself at Yusaku’s neck, it’s small arms scrambling to cover the blue haired boy’s chest by grabbing the edges of the v-neck and shutting them closed like curtains. “He’s trying to look at your boobs!”

“There’s not much to see.” Yusaku tells the A.I. blandly, swatting him away, “I’m an A-cup, and the shirt is big enough to hide them fine.”

Ryouken nearly chokes on his own spit. 

“That’s not the point!” The Ignis cried indigently, tiny harms still holding the v-neck firmly shut, “It doesn’t matter! You’re exposed and he’s trying to sneak a peek.”

“You can’t even see them.” Yusaku responds just as blandly as before, plucking the A.I. between two fingers and peeling him away from the v-neck, forcing the datamass to mostly slink back into the duel disk. “I didn’t even remember I had them until you caused a scene.”

“I’m trying to protect you from a pervert.” The Ignis whined up at the boy.

Yusaku only let out a deep sigh, looking exhausted just from that one interaction. His green eyes flickered up to meet Ryouken’s blue, lips thinning a bit, “I’m sorry about him. He’s...dramatic.”

So Ryouken had noticed. He forced down the feelings of shame and humiliation, promising himself that soon, very soon, he’d be able to _delete_ that thing. But, for now, he’d change the course of the conversation. 

“Do you…” He started tentatively, but then he paused, almost embarrassed because suddenly the question on his lips feels far too personal. But it’s too late to back out now, he supposes, and he’s never been one to stumble over his own words. One did not become leader of the largest cyber terrorist cell in history by backing down. “Do you need a new binder?”

Yusaku shrugs, seemingly uncaring, “I’m small enough that I don’t really notice on most days.”

“Most days.” Ryouken repeats the words, frowning.

The boy merely shrugs again, “It’s...binders hurt, and with the allodynia...I try to wear them only on good days, but after last night I think I won’t risk it.”

After last night.

Did he hurt last night? Or was it a panic attack? What happened? What had he missed? Probably pain, he figures. It makes something in him burn, something that feels a little like the old and familiar guilt, and a lot like stinging failure. Something he finds himself feeling around Yusaku a lot since their reunion. 

“Are you sure?” He asks, just to be certain this is what the boy truly wants.

“It’s fine, I’ll just buy a sports bra and wear it on really dysphoric days.” Yusaku shrugs carelessly, “And start wearing baggier shirts. It’ll probably be better for me. The binder wasn’t working out.”

Ryouken wouldn’t pretend he knew anything about what it was like to be in this particular position, so he chose to take Yusaku at his word, “Alright then, just mention it if you change your mind.” 

He turned around, placing a hand on the wall that held his room just on the other side. It felt smooth and hard, a higher quality than most houses, he thinks. Yusaku wouldn’t be able to hear him at night at the very least, if he was quiet enough. “This is your room.”

“Ah.” Yusaku stepped forward, walking up to the window to stare out at the sea, watching the waves roll lazily in the breeze. Something on his features soften just a touch, a small touch, almost unnoticeable to the eye. Ryouken could help but stare, watching the sunlight hit his skin. Yes, he couldn’t help but think, this would be good for him.

“I was thinking about what color to paint it.” Ryouken coughs in his hand, moving to stand next to the other boy, leaning against the wall length window, “Any preferences?”

“Not particularly.” Yusaku shrugs, eyes strictly on the ocean. “Nothing too dark or too bright.”

“That’s not a lot to go on.” Ryouken sighed, eyeing the boy, “What if I paint it red?”

“That might hurt my eyes.” Yusaku confessed, side eyeing him. “But it’s your home, you should get to decide what to do with it.”

“Yes, but this is going to be your room.” Ryouken reminded him, clicking his tongue, “You should feel comfortable in it.”

Something flickers across Yusaku’s face, something soft, softer even than his gaze towards the ocean. He looks back towards Ryouken with those softened eyes, and for a moment, just a moment, Ryouken feels like he’s stepped back in time. It was almost like ten years ago, when he was eight, and Yusaku was six, and they were just two boys that met on a street and decided to play together. It makes his chest feel warm, and for those few quick moments, all the guilt, regret, and sorrow melted away, and he felt weightless. 

“...maybe cool colors then?” Yusaku turns back to the window, “Something calm and off white, to go with the ocean.”

“A light blue then.” Ryouken decided, looking out the window as well. “Like the sky.” 

“That sounds nice.” Yusaku agreed, looking upwards. It was still early morning, but the sun was up, and the day was clear. “I think I would like that.”

“Then I’ll send Kusanagi out to get it when he gets back.” Ryouken hums, tapping the glass with a single finger. “Then we’ll have my cleaning bots paint the walls.”

“Are you turning Kusanagi into your errand boy now?” Yusaku asks, turning to him with twitching lips, “Because I doubt he’ll be co-operative.” 

“Hotdog man is going to fight you, Mr. Revolver.” The Ignis decided to make his presence known again, narrowing his golden eyes at him. “He’s gonna put up his fists and fight you.”

“Not if he wants to live in my house, he’s not.” Ryouken isn’t defensive, at all. “Besides, he’s less high profile than one of us. You’re a victim of the Hanoi Project, and I’m the son of Dr. Kogami, we’re a little too on the radar to leave.”

“Kusanagi looks like Jin.” Yusaku points out bluntly. And damn, that’s a good point. He might need to consider having paint delivered as well. 

“He’s going to be leaving regularly to check on that brother of his, I assume.” Ryouken observes lightly, “We’ll have to do something about that.”

“Short of bringing Jin here and hiring a live-in nurse to take care of him, there’s little to do other than make sure Kusanagi is disguised well and is the only one getting in and out of the gates.” Yusaku shrugs. 

He doubts Kusanagi would allow that, but it’s an idea to consider for the future. Just in case the hospital was compromised. As it was, Kusanagi Jin was likely better off than the rest of them right now.

Speaking of…

Ryouken pushes himself away from the glass, standing back up on his feet, “I should go get Spectre off the boat and send...the others...on their way.”

Yusaku loses his soft expression, falling back into his usual apathy, with only a slight downward tilt of his lips. “You should.”

Tensing at the sudden coolness in Yusaku’s tone, Ryouken finds his own lips tilted downward. He objectively knew that the other wouldn’t be happy with the reminder of his family being present, but he...didn’t expect it after the moment they just had. It’s a foolish thought, he supposes, just because they had something kind of like a moment doesn’t mean Yusaku is going to forget who experimented on him for six months. He’s not like Spectre, he suffered nightmares, and panic attacks, and chronic pain, and…

...and _did_ it bother Spectre that he was working with the others? Or did he try to hide it like he tried to hide his scars? 

It was no secret to Ryouken that Spectre was only here because of him, and if he chose to abandon the Knights of Hanoi and their mission today the other boy would follow him. Coming back to the Hanoi Project’s facility had been more an act from a child that lacked a purpose, not actual desire to serve the project itself. Ryouken had assumed, because Spectre had never spoken out about it, that he was fine working with them. But now he’s not so certain. Just like he’s not certain that his long time housemate hasn’t been suffering from the same chronic pains unnoticed. 

He should hire a doctor, Ryouken realizes. He needs to hire a doctor to come in and see Spectre and Yusaku. If Spectre has chronic pains then he’s going to need medications. And Yusaku is going to need refills on his.

Ryouken would need both hands to list the amount of pills Yusaku needs just to live day to day life comfortably, as assigned by his on record doctor. 

He reaches out, grabbing Yusaku by the shoulders and turning the smaller boy to face him. The other boy tenses defensively, but Ryouken has no interest in fighting him, instead looking him directly in the eye and trying to radiate something akin to reassurance. “They’re leaving Yusaku, they’re not coming back. You’ll never see them.”

Green eyes flicker over his face, and Ryouken can feel the golden orbs of the Ignis watching him as well. Neither speak, so Ryouken speaks for them, “I promise, you’re not going to see them again.”

“...alright.” Yusaku speaks hesitantly. 

“But if we do, we’re leaving!” The Ignis challenged. Ryouken ignored him, of course, because he didn’t give a damn about that thing’s opinion.

“I know it’s not what you want.” Ryouken starts, “But right now my priority is getting you and Spectre out of the spotlight. And I need to make sure you’re both getting pills and seeing a doctor we can trust to visit us without speaking to the media. Do you have a preference?”

Yusaku’s expression eased a bit, not becoming soft, but less defensive now. He shook his head gently, “I only see my doctor because SOLtech is paying for it, but I don’t actually trust him much. I’ve had second options on my pills done, but those doctors are just as shady.”

Of fucking course. 

“I’ll find you a more trustworthy doctor.” Ryouken likes to believe he’s controlling the flicker of rage inside of him very well. But he keeps thinking about Yusaku’s last doctor, of the reports that detailed the child abuse SOLtech had greenlighted against him, of the man’s presence in prison. He doesn’t blame Yusaku for not trusting his current doctor. Not at all. 

“Alright.” Yusaku nods again. The pale boy lets out a small breath, “I trust you.”

That…

That makes his throat dry and stomach boil with something warm. Yusaku shouldn’t trust him, he absolutely shouldn’t. He should not trust Ryouken at all. Not after everything he’s done. Stupid, naive, _foolish_ Yusaku. This is why you were dragged to the Hanoi Project, this is why your therapist abused you, this is why the Ignis is preying on you. Stop _trusting_ people who don’t deserve it.

Not able to say anything, Ryouken turns away, leaving Yusaku in his new room while he goes to pick up Spectre.

* * *

Queen’s childhood home isn’t what Pawn expects.

It’s a quaint little glass shop, full of colorful painted glass flowers and monsters and other figurines, the home an apartment just above. It’s humble and quaint as the shop, well worn and well loved over decades of care. There are framed photos on the walls, a vintage touch, and markered lines in doorways keeping score of how much Queen grew when she was a child. 

Her father is a very congenial man. He’s younger than Pawn expects, couldn’t be older than his fifties, and very healthy looking. He’s in shape, and dresses casually. Jeans, a loose ponytail of blue and aging silver, a hoodie with strange triangular embroidery that he assumes is some sort of French something, and a strange, thick, silver bracelet that sometimes peeks out from the sleeves, more expensive than anything else the man wears combined. He’s been nothing less than absolutely pleasant so far; always smiling, always offering him things, always going out of his way to be welcoming.

It’s very clear to Pawn that Mr. Bellefeuille loves his daughter very, very, much. That was one of the first things Pawn could tell about the man upon meeting him today. The moment he opened the door to let them inside his home his whole face lit up, and he hugged her to his chest, and Queen _let_ him. And all Pawn could do was watch, dread pooling in his stomach, because if that had been anyone else the man would be dead. And it’s clear that man had no idea what kind of monster he held in his arms.

That poor man. 

It’s only been a few hours since they’ve arrived, and already Pawn could feel the hopelessness of his situation grow. Not only did the man clearly adore his daughter, but the few times he’d been alone with the man it became very clear that the man did not speak the same language as Pawn. Their interactions were mostly in facial expressions and gesturing, with no way to communicate between them. 

Pawn doesn’t even have a language translation app, because Queen was heavily monitoring his phone.

It wasn’t until they were making dinner that it truly hits him that there’s no way for him to warn this man. Not with Queen watching him so closely, and not with the language barrier between them. So he can only watch helplessly as the man makes food by the stove, Queen sitting on an old kitchen chair by the table like it’s her throne, watching him with sharp eyes.

“J'ai parlé hier à ton oncle Adrian.” Mr. Bellefeuille states cheerily, his pan sizzling as he cooks for his daughter and the quest he can’t even speak to, “Je lui ai dit que vous visitiez. Il aimerait te voir.”

Queen’s eyes sharpen at her father’s back, the man unknowingly earning her ire. It makes Pawn wonder what he could have said. He hopes it’s nothing bad. She’s already displeased, and Pawn doesn’t want to find out if she would go as far as to murder her own father. 

Then he remembers she willingly abandoned three children, one of which was the result of an affair, another of which whose father she killed. 

“Non je ne pense pas.” Queen states smoothly, uncrossing her legs, “Je suis ici pour te voir.”

That makes her father turn to face them, smiling pleasantly, hand coming to rest on his heart. The bracelet he wears peaks out from beneath his sleeve, catching a glint of light. Pawn doesn’t miss the way Queen eyes it warily before speaking firmly, “Mettez cette chose de côté.”  
  


“Pas tant que je ne suis pas sûr que votre invité peut faire confiance chez moi.” Her father smiled kindly, turning back to the food he’s cooking, “Il n'est pas comme nous, vous ne pouvez jamais être trop en sécurité.”

“C'est pour ça que tu as parlé à l'oncle Adrian?” Queen’s finger tapps against the wooden table in time with the sizzling pan, her eyes narrowing dangerously. “Aucune autre raison?”

Pawn wishes dearly he knew what was happening, because Mr. Bellefeuille stopped stirring the food in the pan then, pausing for a long time, nothing sounding through the kitchen but the sound of the oil in the pan. He turns just enough for a single, blue, eye to peer at his daughter, his smile becoming strange. “Y a-t-il une raison pour laquelle tu ne veux pas voir mon frère?”

“Non.” Queen speaks slowly, calculated. For a moment, it’s like Pawn is watching a game of chess, a real game of chess, played by two chess masters that know each other well. And, to his horror, in that moment he can see very clearly where Queen gets her calculating mind from. His horror only grows as Queen speaks carefully, like she’s choosing her words wisely. “Il n'y a pas de raison. Je n'avais tout simplement pas l'intention de le voir lors d'une si courte visite à la maison.”

“Alors vous serez heureux de savoir qu'il viendra dîner demain!” Mr. Bellefeuille states loudly and proudly, a pleased smile spreading across his lips as he scraps food onto their plates, grabbing them with both hands and twirling like a ballerina to face them, dropping their food on the table with a clatter, “Profitez de ce qui est servi!”

“Vous l'avez invité sans me le dire?” Queen demands, lips a firm frown.

“Nous sommes une famille et Minerva nous a bénis avec votre visite.” Mr. Bellefeuille’s smile becomes something strange again. “Pourquoi pas moi?”

Queen pinches her lips, “Ce n'est pas juste, je n'ai eu aucun avertissement.”

“Tout est permis, ma chère.” Mr. Bellefeuille smiled, turning to Pawn, “Enjoy yur meahl.”

Pawn sat there, stomach dropping, as he realized he may very well be trapped in a lion’s den.

* * *

**Bonus** : Bring Your Child To Work Day!  
  


_Inina Kaʻuhane-Kogami has a best friend._

_It’s not a strange thing for a woman to have a best friend. Many women have best friends, but she is in the unique position of her best friend being the guy that sits with her during her lunch break at work. This, in of itself, is not a strange thing, as plenty of people sit with their best friends at work if they share a lunch hour and work place. Or they become best friends because they share a lunch hour._

_Inina considers herself unique because her best friend is Fujiki Rikuo, King’s personal P.A. Or so the man claimed. Inina is pretty sure he’s not lying, if only because he seems to have access to everything in the company, all the latest news, and absolutely no fear of the security guards that constantly try to kick him out or restricted areas._

_The problem was, he was also an irreverent asshole and one day she was going to break his nose._

_“I tell you that you’re going to meet my son…” Are the first words that leave her mouth once lunch finally rolls around on “Bring Your Child To Work Day! You’ll Get Paid Extra!”, “And you wear those ugly ass heels?”_

_“I lost a bet to a guy in a chiffon skirt.” Fujiki shows off his candy apple red heels proudly, the ends clicking loudly against the marble floor. He kicks the chair away from the table, sitting down with a flourish, the bundle in his arms making small noises as he settles on the plastic like it’s some sort of high class dinner rather than the SOLtech lunch area, which was built more like a mall food court then the five star restaurant his suit was made for. “Inina, darling, on this day you shall meet the most beautiful creature to ever grace this sinful, ungrateful, earth.”_

_“I’ve already met Ryouken.” Inina, adjusts the boy resting in her arms, his little legs curling her hips and head trying to peer out at everything. Ryouken’s little fists twisted in her jumpsuit, face half buried in her side. He’s such a needy toddler, a real mama’s boy. He absolutely refused to go to the SOLtech Daycare with the other worker's kids, wanting to stay with mommy. Luckily, he was also a fairly quiet baby, and was on the fourth day of an obsession with Disney’s Atlantis, whose main girl Ryouken keeps mistaking for her, which worked for today. So he spent all day dressed up in some of his nicer clothes, watching his movie on repeat while mama worked a little ways off._

_But now it was lunch hour, and the faithful meeting has begun._

_“He’s okay, I suppose.” Fujiki holds up his own bundle, “But behold! The light of my life! The fruit of my loins! The most precious gem in the world! My daughter Yusaku!”_

Fujiki Yusaku looks like any other month old baby. A bundle of wrinkles and pinkish flesh. She has a head of blue hair, with a little tuft of pink on one of her bangs, and tiny green eyes. Inina thinks she qualifies as a cute baby. 

_“So you’re the reason I spent the night in jail.” Inina states instead of telling her dumb best friend that, “I hope that giant crib was worth it.”_

_“They cleared you of charges.” Fujiki dismisses with a wave, his sharp white suit perfectly in place as he swipes a strand of pink hair behind his ear. “One they realized you weren’t actually stealing anything.”_

_“You were a jerk for leaving me there. You should’ve just told them you bought the thing.” Inina sits in her one chair. She’s already bought her daily boba tea, so she feels safe adjusting her son to sit on her lap. Ryouken’s eyes have gone wide now, his gaze on the bundle in Fujiki’s arms, head tilted curiously as his mouth opens and closes. Ah, that’s right, this is his first time seeing a baby. Well, then. She supposes it’s her job as a mother to explain this, “That’s a baby Ryouken.”_

_“Baby.” Ryouken responds, his fingers opening and closing. Then his arms shoot out, fingers still clapping as he reaches for the bundle, “Mine.”_

_Inina bursts out laughing at the absolutely offended look on her friend’s face, thoroughly amused by the way he holds the baby closer to his chest, scooting away, “That’s a good way to start a fight, kid.”_

_“You’re really going to throw down with a two year old?” Inina laughs, patting her son’s back as he tries to reach for the baby, mumbling that one word to himself over and over. “That’s a new low even for you.”_

_“Excuse you, Yusaku is the most delicate and perfect flower that ever bloomed. There’s no such thing as too low.” Fujiki holds that kid protectively to his chest. “I would burn down this world with no hesitation for this kid.”_

_“Right, right.” Inina is still patting Ryouken’s back, trying to stave off his disappointed cries as he starts to realize the other adult might not give him the baby. “Just hand the kid over, Rikuo, I promise we won’t drop her.”_

_He was reluctant. He was very, very, very reluctant. She doubted he have done it if they were anything less than friends and she hadn’t spent the night in jail because some police thought she was stealing a fucking specially ordered crib. But he gives in after a moment, giving her a quick glare, “If you drop my kid, Inina darling, I’ll hack your home’s computers and leak your sex tapes.”_

_Inina quickly covers Ryouken’s ears, “Not in front of the kids!”_

_“They’re not going to remember.” Fujiki dismisses, “Your sex tapes, however, will never be forgotten.”_

_“Bold of you to assume Kiyoshi makes sex tapes.” Inina reaches for her boba, taking a sad sip as she laments this fact, “We only do vanilla. It’s terrible.”_

_“You poor woman.” Fujiki tsks, handing over his kid with a pitying shake of his head, “Here, hold my baby, it’s the least you deserve for such a sad, sad, fact. Divorce him.”_

_“I’d have to have a better reason than bad sex to divorce my husband.” Inina states as she takes the baby. Yusaku is even smaller than Ryouken was at that age, and twice as still. Ryouken was a clingy thing that was always grabbing at you. But Yusaku seemed to be content letting others hold her. Inina adjusts around Ryouken, watching his wide, blue, eyes follow the baby as his mouth falls into an “o”. She doesn’t let go of the baby, holding her in one arm, but settles that arm in Ryouken’s tiny lap so he thinks he’s holding her by herself, “See Ryouken? That’s Yusaku.”_

_“Yuu.” Ryouken babbled, his tiny hands petting her little head of hair. Yusaku’s tiny mouth babbled wordlessly, tiny legs kicking. Her two year old looks absolutely enchanted as he repeatedly pets her head, “Baby.”_

_“Yep, that’s a baby.” Inina nods, looking back towards Fujiki, “See, it’s not so bad.”_

_“Mine.” Ryouken twists his fingers in her baby blanket, legs kicking as he tried to escape his mother’s hold, very obviously trying to steal the baby, “Mine!”_

_“Alright, yep, that’s enough.” Fujiki stood up, taking his kid back. “My baby.”_

_Ryouken was inconsolable the rest of that whole day._

_But, hey, his heartbroken little cries got her off early, so silver linings._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we take a break from angst and media frenzies for...the beginnings of domestic fluff. Yaaaaaaayyyy~
> 
> No, but seriously, this is sorta a break chapter but also not really. Here we have a little bit of conflict, a little bit of negotiation, a little bit of peeling away the toxic layers in our lives, a little bit of health and trans issues, and a whole whole lot of Ryouken wanting to put a ring on it. 
> 
> Oh look, hints of Florian being more than what he seems are coming about. Only Katias knows that full extent of that.
> 
> King and Inina being BFFs. Katias and I RPed this, thanks honey for helping me develop THAT friendship. You single handedly stole that whole plot and altered it by yourself. And, now look, Inina is a low-key baby thief, she's the one that was totally down for helping Ryoken to try to steal baby Yusaku. Thanks for giving that guy a name, by the way, because I was never going to. Just like Yusaku's siblings are never getting names. RIP.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Roboppy being referred to by female pronouns because they haven't started using male pronouns yet.

* * *

**Klexos** : The art of dwelling on the past that brings new meaning to the experience

* * *

“I’m very excited by this opportunity.” Spectre stated with the knowing smile that Yusaku has come to associate with him since their meeting. Though this time they’re not standing as enemies, but rather sitting as allies on the carpeted living room floor, surrounded by boxes and holding up Spectre’s personal tablet. The platinum blonde flicks his fingers a few times, going through various screens before pulling up what look like very extensive plans he’s made over the years for decorating the house. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for quite some time.”

Ryouken leans against a box, blue eyes settled on Spectre and mouth slightly parted in what Yusaku assumes is surprise. Yusaku wonders about that, considering the two have been sharing a house for ten years now, somehow. He’s not surprised himself, but then again, he pegged Spectre as the kind of guy to watch shows like ‘Say Yes To The Dress’ just so he could insult the dress choices from the moment they met. Then again, he’d had the benefit of a stranger’s observation. 

But he doesn’t comment, deciding that it’s more important to figure out what to do with the plans Spectre made and how it would fit with what they had in these boxes. Yusaku reaches into one of them, pulling out a large, wooden, carving of tiki something. He stared at it a long time, trying to figure out what it is and if it was something culturally important or just decoration. “What do you think will go with all of this stuff?”

“The ex Mrs. Kogami has a lot of “tropical” decorations, for lack of a better word.” Spectre looks at a box full of more things, scrutinizing them. “She certainly brought a lot of things from wherever she lived before. It’s appropriate, then, we live right next to the ocean.”

“Hawaii.” Ryouken stated, folding his arms over a closed box. “She was from Hawaii.” 

Yusaku frowned, holding the carving between his hands. He’s noticed that Ryouken seems to go tense whenever it comes to details regarding his mother. Not that he could blame him. He was hardly better when people had asked about his parents at first, of whom he had no knowledge. Not even a name on a birth certificate.

Unlike Spectre’s speculations, Yusaku didn’t exactly have a happy life before the Hanoi Project, not one he could remember at any rate. Maybe he was happy in the orphanage, but he simply can’t recall. What he does remember is being told they found him on the doorstep in the middle of a chilly spring night, nothing but an armband around his tiny wrist with his name and birthday printed on it, and a onesie. Not even a basket or baby blanket. So he understands, just a little bit, what Ryouken must be feeling about all of this. 

Yes, Yusaku had been cagey and defensive about his lack of knowledge concerning his parents too, once. Before it became clear that the Hanoi Project was way more important to him than some people who hadn’t even wanted him. It’s a different situation, but the feelings are largely the same. 

“Is.” Spectre corrected, swiping a finger across his tablet, “She _is_ from Hawaii. Was implies that the party in question is deceased.” 

Yusaku felt his eyes flicker over Ryouken at that, wondering about the complicated relationship _there_. Considering Ryouken’s complicated relationship with his father, Yusaku dreaded the answer, especially with the way the silver haired boy’s face closed off. There was clearly affection there, if Ryouken was taking out her old decorations instead of buying new ones, but it certainly wasn’t simple either.

Why couldn’t life just be simple for once.

“She really liked flowers.” Yusaku hums instead, knucking his knuckles backward against a short surfboard they’d found among the boxes, covered in large, pink, hibiscus flowers. A lot of her things had hibiscus flowers on them. She seemed to really, really, like them. Red and pink flowers decorated all sorts of paintings and curtains and wooden carvings. But he focuses on the surfboard in particular. “What are we even supposed to do with this stuff?”

“Take advantage, of course!” Spectre turned his tablet around, “A golden sandy brown for the walls, some coffee brown for the bases, some nice minty green couches and chairs, ferns and houseplants. We can hang the decorations on the walls and lean the board by the window...”

Yusaku decided that Spectre had been waiting far, far, too long to do this. He risked letting his eyes stray towards Ryouken, who was watching the other boy with slightly parted lips. Then he let his eyes drift back towards the empty kitchen, wondering what Kusanagi would return with and how they would need to design the kitchen around it. “You’ve been thinking this through.”

“I do adore interior decoration programs.” Spectre shrugs, smiling down at his tablet still as he swipes, “It was a way to pass the time.”

“I didn’t know that.” Ryouken states, eyebrow quirking at his long time housemate.

“I’m surprised you know what TV is at all.” Ai remarked from his spot beside Yusaku, the duel disk temporarily removed to rest on the carpet. The dark body stretched tall so he could peer inside of another box, his hand dragging out what looked like a decorative mask of some sort. “You’re too boring to have seen anything interesting.”

The silver haired boy sneers at the Ignis. But instead of snapping at him he turns away, tearing open a box, frowning inside. His eyes briefly flicker towards Yusaku, but very quickly flicker right back to the contents of the box when he realizes he’s being watched. The blue haired boy tilted his head, wondering what the look was about. So he crawled closer, Ryouken’s too big jeans dragging a bit against the carpet as he peered inside. 

“Oh.” Yusaku reaches inside, pulling out a picture frame. It’s an old model digital frame, the kind you get just to show off dozens and dozens of family photos. He peers in the box again and sees at least five more, and Yusaku has a moment where all he can do is stare, baffled, wondering just how many pictures this woman wanted to show off. Or what kind.

Flipping the device over in his hands, Yusaku finds a power button round the end, right next to a small hole he assumes for the small plug in that keeps the frame charged. He gives the button an experimental bush, and is actually somewhat surprised when the frame gives a chime, screen lighting to life colorfully. Ryouken jumps a bit, eyes widening as the colors recede in pixelated squares, leaving behind…

“Oh.” Yusaku blinks as Ryouken inhales sharply. Spectre actually stopped smiling then, looking up from his tablet, only for his blue eyes to lock with the screen as well, “Oh my…”

It was Dr. Kogami’s wedding photo.

They were on a beach, somewhere, surrounded by sunlight and flowers. There were tanned people on one end with colorful dresses with huge flowers, and many men with silvery hair not unlike Ryouken’s. On the other side where the backs of unfamiliar heads that Yusaku assumes are related to Kogami somehow. In the center Kogami stands with a woman that is very obviously Ryouken’s mother, who resembles him far, far, more than his father, the only notable difference Yusaku can spot being the slightly darker skin and the big, looping, curls of her silver hair. They stand under an archway of flowers. It’s a strange sight, seeing so many flowers. It’s not something he associates with Kogami at all. But he’s wearing a long necklace of them around his shoulders, the green leaves stark against his white suit. Ryouken’s mother has a crown of hibiscus in her hair in place of a veil, a necklace of matching flowers around her neck .

It’s a nice picture, though only Ryouken’s mother is smiling. And she’s beautiful. The smile on her face makes her look beautiful the same way the sparkling ocean beneath the sun is beautiful. She looks warm, and radiant, like she was made to stand on warm beaches with wind tossing her hair, her arms are strong from swimming those waters all her life. She’s beautiful the way only the sea can be, and it’s easy to see where Ryouken get it.

“Why don’t we just…” Yusaku doesn’t know what he wants to say when he reaches out and swipes the screen, hurrying to the next photo, but whatever it is doesn’t save him. All he finds is another wedding photo. This time it’s Ryouken’s mother in a group photo with what are very obviously her siblings. Three brothers, all with the same tanned skin and curly silver hair, two with brown eyes and one with blue. One built like a mountain, one dressed smart and clean, and the last with a high pony-tail and lean muscle over his naked torso. Their arms are thrown around each other’s shoulders and they’re all smiling.

Green eyes flicker towards Ryouken’s face, but the older boy’s features are carefully cool. Spectre’s eyes are flickering dangerously fast between the photo and Ryouken, and even Ai doesn’t have a smartass thing to say.

Yusaku, still somehow thinking he can save this, flips to the next photo.

This one is of Ryouken’s mother with _her parents_. Or he thinks it’s her parents. They’re a bit older, but he could see the tell-tale silver in the man’s hair. He was a tall, serene looking man with a bright red floral shirt and a bone-hook necklace. Her mother was a short, stocky, woman with a head of black hair and the biggest smile on her face, hugging Ryouken’s mother close.

By now Yusaku has realized that there are probably no photos within this particular digital frame that aren’t going to be teeth itching levels of awkwardness. So he flips it over again, hitting the power button and laying it down. “You should probably look at those later.”

“She…” Ryouken starts, staring blankly at the down dark frame, “...looked a lot different than she did in her mugshot.”

Mugshot. By god, what had Kogami done to that poor woman?

“Well.” Spectre reaches for a different digital frame, one a few years after the first one, smiling slightly as he switches it on. “You know what they say, women look most radiant on their wedding day. So naturally they’ll look much better than on the day they’re arrested and have their entire lives ruined because of false accusations that will bar them from ever seeing their children again!”

Ryouken’s head snapped towards Spectre, looking slapped.

Spectre shrugged, “That was the situation.”

Ryouken’s lips thinned, and it looked like he’d swallowed a lemon. It was a painful, twisting, expression. He very obviously hadn’t wanted to hear the words from Spectre’s mouth, but the platinum haired boy merely hummed, “There’s no kinder way to put it.”

Yusaku could only watch Spectre flatly. He’s not surprised to hear such news. After all, if a man can torture six innocent children for what eventually amounted to no reason, then he could certainly have his wife falsely arrested. In fact, he’s more surprised by how unsurprising he finds the information. But there’s truly no law a man like Kogami wouldn’t sink to in his head. Still, Spectre could have probably been more delicate. Granted, Yusaku himself was a blunt person, but even he could see this was a sore subject that needed to be handled kinder.

Many he can try that, “...is she still in jail? You could go visit her.”

Both Spectre and Ryouken’s blue eyes widened, landing on him. Yusaku isn’t sure why though, it’s not like it’s a revolutionary thought. 

“I mean…” He tries to find the right words for the situation, but not having the full context makes it a bit difficult. “...for closure.”

Ryouken’s eyes glued to him, like he had a second head. Yusaku wrinkled his nose distastefully, because this really wasn’t something that needed to be treated like it was some grand madness or revelation. “It’s really easy to visit people in prison. I used to visit my therapist all the time.”

It seemed, however comforting he wanted the words to be, it had the opposite effect. For a moment, all he could see was Ryouken’s face blanking, like he hadn’t quite been able to register what he was saying. Spectre, too, looked up from his snooping, his eyebrow hitting his hairline. Then, all at once, Ryouken seemed to finally understand what he was saying, because the next thing Yusaku knew the older boy was on his feet, face twisting in absolute fury, “You did _what_?”

Oh, that’s right, the leaks. Ryouken had obviously read _everything_ and not just the things regarding the Knights of Hanoi and the project itself like Yusaku had hoped. It seemed Ryouken really was thorough. His face contorted into a furious mix of rage and frustration, his eyes gleaming downright murderously as he stepped forward, “What were you _thinking_?”

“I’m not sure why you’re surprised.” Yusaku pointed out evenly, his fingers picking at the edge of his borrowed shirt, “Observationally speaking, this isn’t unusual behavior. I have a history of aggressively confronting people who have harmed me.”

Once again, Ryouken’s face flashed with endless frustration, then twisted into something like horrible realization, then back to that same angry frustration. He reached up his hands, running his fingers through his hair, letting out a long sigh that did nothing to untense his body. “Yusaku, how was that in an way a good idea?”

“Yeah!” Ai, wanting to make his own disapproval known, dragging himself forward and resting his hands on Yusaku’s knees. “I would’ve thought throwing the guy in prison was enough.”

“I wanted to know I could stand up to him without being frightened.” Yusaku shrugged, because it was really very simple for him. For men like Dr. Lecter, so long as they left a mark on your life, a memory, they’ve won. Yusaku wanted to show Dr. Lecter that he hadn’t, that he was nothing more than a tragic backstory, not even the most interesting part. That he was able to grow bored of the man and move on, because that’s how uninterested he was. And the only way he could do that was visit the man until he was less a horror that he was angry with until he was nothing but a pathetic old man behind glass. “It was about finding closure.”

Ryouken made a noise in his throat, something with such deep hatred that Yusaku could feel it as it rumbled the other boy’s chest. Honestly, he doesn’t even see why it’s the other boy’s business. Dr. Lecter was his demon to face, one he’d moved on from long ago. He doesn’t know what Ryouken wants from him. It’s not like Yusaku confronting his therapist interfered with his plans to destroy Ai and his kind. 

“Well!” Spectre, being the unexpected savior of the situation, he’d up the digital frame he was holding. “Look what I found! Ryouken’s _baby pictures_.”

Spectre sounded so delighted by his findings that Yusaku couldn’t help his attention being stolen away. He scooted closer, leaning over to peer at the collection of pictures, only for Ryouken to snap at them both, “I don’t want to look at _baby pictures_ right now, Spectre.”

The platinum haired boy placed down the frame, disappointingly switching it off. Yusaku stared longingly at the frame, wishing he’d at least gotten to see one of the baby pictures. But Spectre seemed inclined to follow Ryouken’s orders even now, packing away the frame in the box with a sigh, “I suppose we’ve done all we can for decoration until we get the paint and furniture anyway.”

They hadn’t even done anything but pack boxes and make plans. It felt a little cheap, but Spectre seemed to have decided no more productive work was getting done today. And Ryouken was still standing over them, arms crossed over his chest, face twisted in fury. 

Was he _still_ angry about Lecter? Yusaku sighed, realizing that, yes, no more work was getting done today because Ryouken wasn’t about to let this go. It was pretty annoying, considering he was hardly in the right to be mad. Lecter was far from the worst person to hurt him, that achievement belonged to Ryouken’s lieutenants. So if he was angry on Yusaku’s behalf, because Dr. Lecter had hurt him, then it was highly hypocritical. He had no right to be this angry when he was actively defending the people who hurt him most, and it was more than a little annoying.

Ai pulled next to him, crawling onto his lap, tiny body draping over his thigh. “Yusaku, Yusaku, you don’t still visit that guy, right? I never saw you do it.”

“Of course not.” Yusaku stated pointedly, “He’s nothing now. I confronted him and I moved on.”

“Oh thank almighty Google.” Ai threw a hand over his forehead, like he was some sort of swooning lady in his period dramas. “We _need_ to talk about your bad self-care. I never mentioned it when we were living together in your apartment, but now we’re mooching off Revolver, so I’m gonna say it. You need to take better care of yourself.”

“Ah, scolded by the future destructor of humanity for a lack of self-care.” Spectre mused with that infuriating smile on his face. “How low you’ve sunk, Playmaker, to bring about such a contradiction.”

“It’s not a contradiction, you just don’t know anything about Ai.” Yusaku defended his partner, bringing his hand to act as a shield between the blonde and the Ignis. He gave Spectre a warning look, daring the other boy to say anything. Spectre, being contrary opened his mouth anyway, but the words died on his lips, as did the smile on his face. His eyebrows screwed together as he stared into the living room, and Yusaku had a feeling he knew what he was seeing.

Green eyes flickered towards Ryouken, who was now pacing the room, face twisted into a furious snarl, hands curling and uncurling at his sides. He was like some caged animal, waiting to lash out, but having nothing to pounce. Yusaku sighed, knowing that if he didn’t do anything now then this was just going to build and build until it became unbearable. So he stood up, picking up his clunky duel disk and strapping it to his wrist as he walked toward the boy, “Ryouken, calm down. I haven’t seen him in two years.”

The silver haired boy paused, his whole body tensing as his hands uncurled. Yusaku watched him, frowning, a small bubble of concern building in his chest. He stopped short of reaching for the taller boy’s shoulder, sighing as he dropped his own hand, “I’m never going to see him again, so don’t worry about me sneaking out to visit him in prison or whatever you’re imagining. You’re not going to be dragged into drama.”

“Is _that_ what you think I’m frustrated about?” Ryouken snaps at him, hands curling white knuckled again, “Drama?”

“I fail to see any other reason to be this upset.” Yusaku is carefully calm, stepping back to give Ryouken his personal space, because he doubts the other boy wants him so close. Things between them are tenuous at best, their relationship strained and battered almost beyond repair. Too much expectation on Yusaku’s part, too much regret on Ryouken’s. And if there’s one thing that he’s learned over the years it’s that when people don’t want you in their life it’s best to believe them. And Ryouken has made his stance on their relationship very, very, clear. So he’s careful to keep the distance between them, to temper his expectations and his presence.

He won’t push himself into Ryouken’s space or his life beyond trying to save him from self-destructing, trying to help him realize he was emotionally abused. Because Yusaku can see it, he can see it clear as day. He’s been there. That’s what Ryouken is fuming over, because Yusaku had been visiting his abuser. It’s as ironic as it is unfunny. 

But anything beyond that he won’t push, he won’t fight. Because he’s learned the hard way that there’s no use fighting for someone’s affections when they have no intentions on returning your feelings. Yusaku can want Ryouken in his life all he wants, but that will never change the fact that Ryouken sees him as the face of all his mistakes. 

“That’s the problem.” Ryouken hisses, the open frustration slipping past his normally carefully stoic features. “You don’t see _anything_ wrong.”

Yusaku frowns, “Then explain to me why you’re upset so we can negotiate and I don’t upset you again.”

If this were anyone else, absolutely anyone else, he wouldn’t bother. He’d walk away, too exhausted and too apathetic to care. But this wasn’t just anyone, this was Ryouken. The reason he was alive, the reason he kept living through all the pills and the pain, through the foster homes that didn’t want him and social workers and teachers that were so frustrated with his lack of recovery and difficulty that they all but gave up on him. Through Dr. Lecter, through living on his own, through surfing the Dark Web and fighting Hanoi. Ryouken and his words kept him going.

The frustration twisting on Ryouken’s face was more clear than ever. He crosses his arms over his chest, lips twisted in an ugly frown that marred his handsome face. “If I knew you were _this_ self destructive-”

The silver haired boy can even finish his sentence, too overcome by whatever he thinks is going on. He makes a sound of sheer anger, throwing his hands up, “I can’t believe I never noticed. It all makes sense now.”

“I’m not self destructive.” Yusaku adds camly. He’s seen self-destruction too. He’s seen it in Dr. Lecter’s other patients when they walked out of the room, he’s seen it in group therapies, he’s seen it in foster homes with more troubled youths. There’s a difference between himself and someone genuinely self-destructive, or, at least, he likes to think so. All he wanted was to finally be able to stand on his own two feet and fight back, take back his life from the ones who took it from him, to show them he had the strength to stand on his own two feet and fight back. “I was just doing what I needed to finally move on.”

Ryouken tsks, not looking convinced. “The evidence is beginning to show otherwise.”

He really did not hold Yusaku in high regard at all. The blue haired boy isn’t surprised. For a moment he wishes he could peer into Ryouken’s mind, just to understand what he’s seeing, exactly. Yusaku is fairly observant, but the older boy is so closed off and sends such mixed messages that he can never be sure anymore. Does he see Yusaku as an enemy? A genuine threat to his plans? Or is he still seeing that weak little boy trapped in a white room?

It was no secret to him that he must be the weakest of the six children involved in the Lost Incident. Jin may be living in constant fear within the care center, and Spectre may have gone back to his abusers, but at least they lived on their own. Yusaku is well aware that he wouldn’t have made it that far, that if Ryouken hadn’t spoken when he had life would have slipped through the young Yusaku’s fingers. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth even thinking about it. They all had the strength to survive on their own, but he’d have passed loveless and alone without the tiny fragment of hope Ryouken had given him.

A hope that meant the world to a young Yusaku, a hope that meant _nothing_ to Ryouken. A hope he regretted. 

_“It’s not disoften that love like yours falls to the unworthy.”_ Dr. Lecter had told him once. _“It’s only a shame when it happens. Not everyone wishes to leave hell, Little Orpheus.”_

He was right and wrong. It wasn’t that Ryouken was unworthy of Yusaku’s loyalty, it was that Yusaku was too weak to leave his own hell back then, so he couldn’t possibly save his voice of hope. He’d hoped when he fought the Knights, when he showed how strong he’d become, when he took back his life, he’d finally be strong enough. But it was all still just wish fulfillment. He's not Orpheus, he's Eurydice, helpless to do anything but chase an impossible dream.

_“You gave your heart away to a fantasy.”_ Dr. Lecter had told him, when they were talking about his voice of hope in particular. Because Dr. Lecter was sure that Ryouken either never existed, or died in the project and was replaced by another child. His theories had been wrong, but his words burned true, because finding and saving Ryouken had turned out to never be anything but exactly that, a fantasy by a broken child trying to find a reason to live. 

But it was a reason to live, regardless, and he doesn’t regret it. 

“You and I will have to disagree.” Yusaku states blandly, because he is sure of one thing and one thing alone, and it’s that he’ll never regret becoming Playmaker. “I did what I had to do.”

“No, you didn’t _have_ to do anything.” Ryouken’s voice is hard as steel. His jaw clicks, and his glare sharpens, “You didn’t _have_ to sleep on a dog bed, you didn’t _have_ to visit that man in jail, you didn’t _have_ to fight my organization. You did that on your own, and it’s infuriating. If I knew you were going to be like this I would never-”

His jaw clicks shut again, turning away as he refuses to finish his sentence.

You would have what? Yusaku can’t help but wonder, turning the possibilities over in his head. You would have never saved he? You would have never let me out? You would have never let me live long enough to hinder your plans? All are very real possibilities. 

“If I hadn’t slept on the dog bed, I would have slept on a hardwood floor.” Yusaku lips his lips at the admission, because it’s the hard truth. It’s not something he was proud of, sleeping on a dog bed, but it was better than the floor. He’ll never forget sleeping on concrete in the white room, and a dog bed felt like luxury in comparison. And Ryouken? He needs to hear it. He needs to understand that, sometimes, the alternative is far worse. “It was what I could afford. It was the best I could do.”

Ryouken’s shoulders tense, and he refuses to face Yusaku.

“I did what I had to do.” Yusaku states firmly, because he can’t back down now. “And sometimes it hasn’t been nice, or pretty, but I did my best to take care of myself. It hasn’t always been enough, I know that. I’m impoverished, traumatized, underage, on my own, and often without medication. Sometimes I had to make a choice about how I want to suffer. They weren’t always good ones, but everything I’ve ever done was in the name of trying to improve my situation.”

Ryouken still refuses to look at him still.

“I won’t ever see Dr. Lecter again, I couldn’t even if I wanted to.” Yusaku shakes his head, “Not with Kusanagi watching me, not with Ai willing to tell if I go anywhere near the prison, and especially not with everyone in Den City watching my every move.”

Feeling more confident now, he steps forward, “That’s three reasons-”

“Stop it with that three reasons nonsense.” Ryouken finally turns back to him, a deep twisting in his voice, “Just...just _stop it_.”

Yusaku’s mind blanks, the words uncomprehending. He’s lived more than half his life by threes, he’s only alive because of his three reasons. Stopping wasn’t even an option anymore, he can’t even begin to imagine stopping. “I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t.” Ryouken replied, almost bitterly. “You just can’t stop, even when it would be better for you. And look at where it’s gotten you.”

Now he’s not even making sense. Yusaku sighs, knowing that with Ryouken’s currently volatile attitude then he would not react well to further questioning. But they have to clear this up, or else it would fester like an infected wound, something they couldn’t afford if they were going to live together. “You’re going to have to clarify.”

“Stop _trusting_ the wrong people.” Is Ryouken’s answer, his blue eyes narrowed so sharply that they could have cut into Yusaku’s skin. “You trusted your therapist and it got you drugged and abused. You trust the Ignis and it’s going to get humanity destroyed. For god’s sake, Fujiki, you’d think you would have learned after you trusted _me_ and became part of the Hanoi Project.”

The air is heavy after that, and Yusaku vaguely hears Ai make a distressed noise. He can even hear the sound of Spectre’s sharp inhale, the awkwardness leaving both speechless and helpless as they bore witness to this, frankly, private conversation. A conversation Yusaku hadn’t even realized he and Ryouken had been putting off since they reunited. He wishes they were alone for this, to air out their grievances and regrets privately, but that’s not an option now. They’ve gotten too caught up in the storm, and now they had no choice but to see this through to the end.

There are words that Yusaku has been waiting ten years to say, words he’s held in his heart with the only memory from before the white room he could recall, words that have been he finally has a chance to set free, words he’s not going to waste.

“Ryouken.” Yusaku presents easily, relaxed, and honestly. “It’s not your fault.”

The white haired boy doesn’t take his words well, at all. He sizes up like an enraged bull, lips pulling back into a snarl, “What kind of sick, self-destructive, brainwashing are you putting yourself through?”

“You were eight.” Yusaku tells him honestly, blandly even. He takes a step forward, confident in his own words even if no one else believed them. “Ryouken, you can’t possibly be held accountable for what happened. We were children. _You_ were a child.”

“So were you.” Ryouken throws back, “And you walked away with a stranger and got yourself locked away for six months.”

“I walked away with a child I wanted to be friends with.” Yusaku shakes his head, “We played games all day.”

“I knew my father was taking children, I wanted to help him, it was premeditated.” Ryouken jabs a finger at him, “You’re just a fool. A fool that wants to find trust in people you shouldn’t, and now you’re pushing that on me.”

“You were a child.” Yusaku reminds him again, green eyes meeting blue unflinchingly, “You couldn’t have known the sheer extent of what you were doing meant.”

“I knew well enough.” Ryouken fired back, “I knew kidnapping was bad, I knew it would hurt you. I befriended you knowing what would happen to you. I did it to help my father.”

“And I never blamed you for that.” Yusaku shook his head, “Not even when I realized what you did.”

“You’re biased.” Ryouken sneers back, still sized up like an enraged bull. But Yusaku isn’t afraid, he hasn’t been afraid in a long time. “You’ve been putting me on a pedestal for ten years.”

“You’re not unbiased either.” Yusaku reminds him gently, “You’ve spent the last decade feeling guilty. The difference here is, I, a person you hurt, have decided I care enough about you to forgive you.”

The other boy actually flinches back at that, like Yusaku slapped him rather than gave his forgiveness. Then his face hardens, jaw clenching until he could spot a vein twitching. “You’re a _fool_ , Playmaker. And _this_ is why people keep abusing you.”

“No.” Yusaku shakes his head, feeling his bangs brush against his cheek. “That’s not my fault. That’s a hard truth I ever had to learn, the hardest truth I’ve ever learned. It’s not my fault what happened to me, and it’s not yours either. But if you want to take the blame, then I’ll give my forgiveness instead.”

Ryouken can only shake his head in disbelief.

Yusaku takes a step forward, more confident than he’s felt in months. “I forgive you.”

“Stop it.” Ryouken snaps, shoulders shaking, “Don’t put that on me. I don’t want it.”

“You don’t get to decide whether or not I forgive you.” Yusaku shakes his head, “That’s the one thing you can’t decide. I forgive you. No matter what the future holds, I forgive you for what happened back then.”

“Stop it.” Ryouken is shaking now, voice taking on a steely edge as he makes his command, “Stop this right now.”

“It’s not your fault.” Yusaku drives home the point, unrelenting as he’s ever been. “And I forgive you,”

That seems to be as much as Ryouken could stand. He turns away, picking up the box of digital albums, holding it between his arms as he turns down the hall. “I’ll be in my room. Don’t disturb me unless it’s important. I don’t care what you do with the house.”

And he storms away, down the hall and out of sight. Yusaku watches him go, disappearing around a corner, the sound of a door slamming closed. From his spot on the floor, Spectre watches with wide eyes, a soft “Oh my” leaving his lips as they then flicker towards Yusaku himself. Ai asks the question the platinum blonde clearly wants to, “What was _that_ all about?”

The blue haired boy shrugs, “We were friends for a day, before the Lost Incident. Ryouken was the one that...found me, for lack of a better word.”

Both Spectre and Ai clearly hadn’t been privy to this information even with the leaks, going by their shared look of utter surprise. Yusaku chooses to take comfort in that, at least. Deciding he was done with this discussion now, he sits next to Spectre, moving the conversation along, “So, mint green furniture?”

And then Kusanagi throws open the door, because of course he did, carrying tens of boxes of kitchenware. “Hey kids, help me get all the stuff for the kitchen in. I’ve also got two mattresses in my food truck we’re going to have to haul in.”

Spectre actually looked relieved, which said something about how awkward this must have been for the poor bastard. 

* * *

Aoi has become fond of the little robot Ema brought home.

Fujiki had done a good job building the little maidbot. She was very lively and colorful, especially considering her older model. And he’d chosen nice colors for the paint, and a cute chip for the voice. It was something she wouldn’t have expected of her cold classmate, to create something so adorable. But, then again, she’s starting to learn that she was hardly in a position to say she knew anything about him.

It’s something she regrets deeply now, especially knowing he’d been her ally fighting the Knights. She should have reached out to him when she had the chance, back when she learned he’d been the one to find her when she fell into a coma, when she learned he’d sat with her at the hospital until her brother came to her.

Now it might be too late.

_“Or reports state that three victims remain unfound for now._ ” The reporter on screen tells his audience, his hands folded over his desk, “ _Fujiki Yusaku has yet to return home since he was last seen fleeing his school grounds. Homura Takeru also has gone underground after the revelations. Neither will thus be available for comment._ ”

_“I find it suspicious that the three orphans of the group have gone missing.”_ His partner states, her sharp red dress suit a contrast to his yellow. _“Knowing what we do of SOLtech’s unethical practices and ties with the infamous Knights of Hanoi responsible for this horrific event, can we trust that something terrible hasn’t happened to these children?”_

_“Police have interrogated Dr. Taki Kyoko, currently imprisoned for her involvement in the attack on Vrains before her detainment by Blue Angel., and awaiting investigation and trial for her active role as one of the scientists involved with the Hanoi Project.”_ The man answers for his partner, looking over a tablet. _“So far, they have yet to release their findings, but assure us that they will find and bring the Knights to justice._ ”

_“At least the victims will finally find justice._ ” The woman replies, _“And what of the families of the victims? Or the families of the scientists involved?”_

_“Reporters have reached out to the families of both.”_ The man coughed into his hand. _“All the families of the scientists have expressed shock and horror at their relative’s actions and denounced them. They ask that crowds please stop harassing them now. Reportedly, Taki Kohaku, elder brother of Taki Kyoko, has expressed regret for financing her pursuit of a doctorate and begs that he and his children be left alone. Similarly, Anaki Yuki, sister of Dr. Aso, begs that she not be associated with her brother’s crimes, as the harassment is traumatizing her own children. The family of Dr. Gerome has organized a fundraiser in hopes of financially helping the victims of the Hanoi Project afford proper medications and therapy, given their relative’s part in the crime and the knowledge that the children’s therapy was actively sabotaged. In particular that of Fujiki Yusaku.”_

_“Poor girl.”_ The woman breathed, a hand folding over her heart, _“Can you imagine? The details of her therapy were as horrific as the Hanoi Project itself.”_

“Master Yusaku uses male pronouns!” The little maidbot laying in Aoi’s lap chimed, her little arms moving up and down in distress. “Please use the correct pronouns sir!”

Fujiki really did a wonderful job programming the maidbot into a careunit. Aoi feels like she’s learned more about her classmate just being near this little bot than she ever had even speaking to him. She knows things about him now, intimate things that you can’t find in papers, because of Roboppy. She knows that, despite his cool exterior, he likes cute things. She knows his medications, and what times he takes them, and that he doesn’t have friends over often unless it’s “brother” or “hotdog man”. She knows that Roboppy is concerned about his diet, and his severe malnutrition, and that Roboppy asks for hugs when she notices someone’s mood is down. 

Aoi pat’s the robot’s head. “They can’t hear you, Roboppy.”

From his spot on the other end of the couch, her brother makes a distressed noise. “We need to find a way to contact the families without them thinking we’re harassing them.”

“It won’t be easy.” Ema hummed from her own spot between them, tapping her chin thoughtfully and crossing her legs as she leaned back. “It seems Midori Suzukage and Sugisaki Miyu are locked themselves in their homes. And Kusanagi Jin is protected by hospital staff, with his brother disappearing off the face of the earth.”

Miyu…

Aoi hugs Roboppy closer to her chest, the little robot cooing at her as she sensed how upset she’d become. Miyu, Miyu, _Miyu_.

If Fujiki was a passing regret, then Miyu was a gnawing hole in her heart. She remembers her first and only friend well, and the fact that something so horrible had happened to her…

“There, there, Ms Aoi.” Robbery patted her with little mitten hands, “It’s all going to be okay. You can cry if you want to, Roboppy will be here.”

Akira’s head snapped toward her, his mouth falling open. But Ema elbowed him into silence, leaving the room silent. Aoi wishes Ema hadn’t done that, because she wishes she had anything else to say. So she speaks tentatively, wondering if she was saying the right thing. “I’m okay Roboppy, I’m just worried about the...the victims.”

“Roboppy is worried about Master Yusaku and brother too.” The little robot looks at the news screen. She’s so lifelike, Aoi marvels, because she looks and sounds so genuinely sad as she speaks. “Roboppy misses them very much, and if Roboppy could cry then they would. But Roboppy has to tell themselves it’s not over until everything is okay again.”

Aoi pats the robot’s head sympathetically. She feels genuinely bad for the little bot, because her entire world was destroyed. “Roboppy, I’m sorry to say this, but with everything that’s happening, I don’t think anything will ever be okay again.”

“Then it’s not over.” Roboppy states gently, head turning back to face her, “Roboppy won’t give up so long as Master Yusaku and brother needs them, not ever ever ever no matter how sad it gets. So don’t you give up either Ms. Aoi.”

What a brave little robot, Aoi muses as she pets their head. “Okay, I won’t.”

“It will be okay again, Ms Aoi.” The robot promises, her little mitten hands patting Aoi’s flesh ones, “So don’t be sad, Roboppy will stay with you until we find Master and his friends. Then we’ll all feel better together.”

“Promise?” Aoi asks, still petting Roboppy’s head.

“Of course!” Roboppy raises their little arms, “Lying is forbidden!”

Akira coughs into his hand, turning back to his laptop, “Yes, Roboppy is right. We’ll find Fujiki soon, and then we’ll contact the other victims and set up a program. I already have a few defectors from SOLtech working on it.”

“I suppose my break is over, then.” Ema stands up, winking at her. “Best get back to looking for our boy wonders. Good luck emailing Mrs. Kogami Akira~”

“She’s not Mrs. Kogami anymore, Ema.” Akira frowned disapprovingly. “She’s divorced. And, hopefully, our strongest supporter and advocate if negotiations go well. So don’t call her that to her face, please.”

“I’m not that stupid.” Ema waves as she basically dances towards the door, “I’ll be back as soon as I find news! Stay beautiful until then!”

And then she’s gone with nothing more than a wave and a soft door click, leaving Aoi alone with her brother and Roboppy. She hums softly, turning her attention to where her brother rapidly typed at the keyboard, watching him before risking her question, “...have you contacted Miyu yet?”

Akira’s hands paused, “...I’m still awaiting a reply.”

“Oh.” She looks away, “Okay.”

The uncertainty was the worst part, but at least she wasn’t alone. If Roboppy could be brave, then she supposes she can be too.

* * *

Taking in Yusaku was a mistake.

He shouldn’t be surprised by this, he has thought it several times already and it has only been a single _day_. But, somehow, he still finds himself seething in his room, slamming his door shut and sinking to the floor with his back pressed against the wall as frustrated tears gather at the edge of his eyes but thankfully refuse to shed. 

“Stupid, foolish, naive little _idiot_ .” Ryouken leans his head back against the door, trying to maintain his anger. “You’re the worst, Playmaker, the absolute worst. A menace. A beautiful little mouthy _menace_.” 

But he’s not angry, no matter how much he wishes he was. It’s easy to be angry at Yusaku for his blatant disregard for his own health, for the way he casually normalizes his sufferings, for _seeking out his abuser_. But it’s so very, very, hard to feel angry at him for being so honest and straightforward. He’s trying, oh, he’s trying, but no matter how he strokes the fire he can’t keep the rage burning.

Mostly, Ryouken just feels shame. Shame as deep and dark as the bottom of the sea deepest ocean. Shame overpowering that all he can do is helplessly let it drag him under, drowning him in its current as he struggles to breath. But he’s helpless, and there’s no sign of land. 

“Damn you.” He whispered, “What gave you the _right_?”

Fujiki really is a fool. A beautiful little fool wearing his damn heart on his sleeve and giving it out to scumbags like him. He could pretend to be cold and guarded all he wants, but Ryouken knows that the younger boy was destined to be broken over and over and over again by bastards like him who will take advantage of that bleeding heart of his. Fujiki was the wet dream of sadists everywhere. A doll faced thing as fragile as glass with a face that doesn’t show his obviously brittle insides. The kind of person that crooks loved to see how far they had to push to break him.

He almost can’t cross that boy with the indomitable Playmaker anymore. Or, maybe, it’s just easier to see the strength in Playmaker when not faced with the fragility in Fujiki. Either way, Ryouken hates it. He hates it with a burning passion. 

“I hate you.” He hates the way his voice breaks a bit when he says this, the edges raw and shredded with emotion he wishes he didn’t feel. “Why are you _like_ this?”

He wishes Fujiki would be angry, resentful, at least it would be easier then. When he was just Playmaker, it had been easy to brush aside that hatred. When he had been both that teary eyed siren _and_ Playmaker it was harder, but he could deal with it, he preferred it even, because he could use it, he could face it and see that it fit his world easily. Just another puzzle piece, just another reason why he’d been wrong to save them. 

He wasn’t ready for a Fujiki that forgave. He wasn’t ready for a Fujiki that never blamed him at all.

A strong wave of disgust rolls over him at the thought. A stronger wave of disgust rolls over him at how _good_ it had felt for a moment. He’d _wanted_ it. He wanted it _bad_. He wanted it so bad he’d been ready to take Fujiki in his arms and kiss him until the breath ran out of them both, hold him and never let him go right then and there. He even thought about it, before he remembered that he was single handedly responsible for every abuse that same boy faced in his life.

“I’m scum.” He determines, just objectively speaking, “I’m the worst scum that ever grew in the bottom of a garbage bin.”

What kind of scumbag told someone like that they were a regret? What kind of scumbag told a trauma victim that? 

He rubs his face in his hands, letting out a long breath. He needed a distraction. Something that had nothing to do with Fujiki. 

It’s probably a bad idea to dig through the digital frames for old photos, but it’s not Fujiki, so that already makes it a better idea to reach for one and switch it on. He swallows his guilt, swallowing down the guilt and focusing on whatever his absent mother left behind.

Baby pictures, apparently.

Dozens of them, all with some kind of caption or text beneath.

_‘Welcome to the World Ryouken.’_ His hospital pictures. His mother in a hospital room, holding his wrinkled little body in her arms. Weeping grandfather holding him next. A crying grandmother. His father was there standing off to the side. Though, oddly, there were no pictures of him holding his newborn son.

_‘Ryouken’s first Christmas.’_ A picture of him in fuzzy pajamas in front of a decorated tree, opening brightly wrapped presents. His grandparents were obviously visiting them, because they both sat in the background on a blue couch. He’s holding a _stuffed otter_ of all things.

_‘Ryouken’s first zoo trip.’_ A picture of him petting a _goat_ , followed by him in a stroller in front of a lot of different animal enclosures. He sees no other adult present as far as he knows, except a brief picture of him with a zoo worker.

_‘Ryouken’s first aquarium.’_ Dozens of pictures at, indeed, an aquarium. Again only of him with a few with his mother holding him in her arms, pressing her cheek against his with a smile on her face, large silvery curls draping him. 

_‘Ryouken the dinosaur.’_ Him in a dinosaur onesie.

_‘Ryouken and best uncle.’_ A picture of him with what he assumes is his mother’s youngest brother, both of them on a beach somewhere. Followed by a series of pictures of him with other member’s of her family, particularly his grandmother, who never seems to not be feeding him pineapple slices. 

‘ _Ryouken’s first Ren Faire.”_ A picture of him dressed in a little _knight_ costume greets him, to ultimate irony.

It takes hundreds of pictures before he finds even a hint of his father in any of the mundane or special pictures. _‘Ryouken’s first business party’_ where he finds two pictures of his father holding him, one that was alone and another with business partners. Those are the only pictures he finds. There’s nothing else.

He tries to find more with his father, but there’s more pictures with his _grandparents_ and _uncles_ he’s never met than his own father.

It’s...much more upsetting than he thought it would be.

There’s dozens with his mother. Dozens and dozens, at every event. But there are only _two_ with his father. And now he’s upset for completely different reasons than ten minutes ago. He feels raw, flipping through his baby pictures. Was this just the sad state of his parent’s marriage...or…?

He doesn’t want to think about it.

So he flips this one off and picks up another, switching it on and flipping through this one. He feels more comfortable instantly, because this one is more casual, not themed around his childhood. There’s pictures his mother took of herself, of what he assumes are coworkers. There’s even a few of his father in his office or at work. There’s even few of Ryouken during less important moments. 

Still none where his father was holding him.

He tosses away the frame, mood worse than ever, raw emotion and bile choking him. The tears he’d been effectively fighting off leaking from the corners as a terrifying possibility occurred to him.

“I ruined my life for a man who wouldn’t even hold me as a baby.” 

* * *

**Bonus** : Parenting Advice

Waking up in the early morning hours isn’t Inina’s job, but that seems to be what is happening, because her phone is vibrating way too loudly. Having sharp instincts for such interruptions, Inina wakes up groggily, pushing herself from the bed and reaching for the phone. Beside her, Kiyoshi sleeps on, because he never wakes up at night. Even Ryouken’s worst fits couldn’t wake the man, so a vibrating phone certainly wouldn’t. 

Rubbing her eye, she checked the caller ID. On the screen a pink haired man with a single stick of pockey sticking out of his mouth held the phone over his head, winking and giving a peace sign. Rikuo. What the hell did he want?

“Hello?” She answers, standing up to walk out onto the balcony, sliding open the glass door and clicking it behind her, leaning against the rail and overlooking the ocean. Oh, it’s glowing tonight!

“Inina! Darling! You’re a mother, right?” Rikuo didn’t bother with a greeting. She could vaguely hear tiny sobbing through the phone. “Yes, of course you are. Darling, how do you change a diaper?”

Inina pauses, caught off guard. It’s true that Rikuo mentioned his baby girl had been born a few days ago, but she would have thought that he learned this by now. Then again, he’s stupid rich, and stupid rich people didn’t know common sense things. “Is there no one there that knows how to change a diaper?” 

“No.” Rikuo snaps, which is surprising, because he always seems more quietly amused by everything. She’s never heard him snap before. He must be really pissed. “I’m alone!”

Inina raises her brow at that, “Where’s your wife? I know that they teach the mothers to change diapers in the hospital just as a precautionary thing.”

“Inina, darling…” Rikuo sounded very, very, out of sorts, “That _bitch_ just left me here with our three day old daughter to go vacation in the tropics. Like, what the _fuck_ Regina?”

That caused her to actually pause, waking more up as she stood straight, disbelieving, “Wait, she did what?”  
  
  
“Like, I know I married this bitch for probably all the wrong reasons. Her looks would secure me a beautiful child and her little schemes were amusing. But now? This bitch is _lucky_ she's out of the country right now.” Rikuo ranted loudly in her ear, so loudly she had to pull her face away, “So now I’m desperately looking for a proper nanny.”

“Wait, she didn’t get a nanny first?” Inina asks, honestly baffled, “But didn’t King have a meeting with investors all day? You were busy as shit, who was watching the baby?”

“No one!” Rikuo shouted, punctuating each word as he spoke. “Absolutely. No. One. I came home to a _note_ in her crib! A _sticky note!_ Stuck to my baby! She’s on a month-long trip to the tropics and my daughter had a sticky note stuck to her! A sticky note! Who even uses sticky notes anymore!”

“A sticky note?” Inina asked flatly, “Not even a text?”

“Not even a text!” Rikuo shouted, then his voice took on a twinge of horror, “Who knows how long my baby was rolling around in her own filth by herself! The _maid_ found her and changed her little nappy for me!”

“Why didn’t you get the maid to help you?” Inina asked, because she doesn’t even know what else to say to that.

“The woman already stayed several hours overtime to watch my baby! I wasn’t going to keep her _longer_. It’s well past midnight darling!” Rikuo was downright throwing a fit, “You can bet your sweet ass that I gave that woman a raise and compensated her!”

Inina took a moment to suck in a deep breath, “Rikuo, divorce your wife.”

“Oh, darling, I _intend_ to.” Rikuo’s voice got very low, “I'll be doing that and more. Did you know she told me she and her parents weren't on speaking terms and that's why they didn't come to our wedding? Turns out that was a lie.”

“Oh god.” Inina pinched the bridge of her nose. “What happened?”

“Nothing! Literally nothing! They’re a Florist and a Glassblower! She just doesn't go home because she's ashamed of them not being rich! It’s the weirdest most shallow shit I've ever encountered.” Rikuo sounded so offended she honestly couldn’t even process her own emotions on the matter. “As a former dealer with a lot of sexworker friends, I’m offended by the sheer audacity.”

“That’s...wow.” Inina blinked, wrinkling her nose. “That’s...wow.”

“They don’t even know they have grandchildren!” Rikuo ranted again, “That’s right. Children, plural.

She has two other kids she abandoned. Granted, I knew this when I married her, but I didn’t think her parents didn’t know! By god. I didn’t think she was dumb enough to do that to me, her sugar daddy, either.”

“What a _bitch_.” Inina nodded, offended on behalf of those poor children. What a stone cold, evil, bitch. “Get a restraining chip against her too.”

“I’m already blanning it.” Rikuo promised passionately, “I'm gonna fly me and Yusaku to France the minute she's ready to travel and introduce us to Regina's folks. I'm gonna spill all the dirt I have on their daughter and then I'm gonna text Regina a picture of us together and say ‘ _Hey! Met up with your parents and had dinner! It was great! They adore Yusaku_ ,’ and then **BAM**! I'm gonna hit her gold digging bitch ass with divorce papers and the best state of the art restraining chip I can find!”

“Will King give you the time off?” Inina asked, wrinkling her nose, “I know he’s a messy bitch that lives for drama, but will he give you that much time off?”

“Trust me darling, **_King is on my side_ **.” Rikuo stated harshly.

“Well, you have fun with that.” Inina yawns, rubbing her eye, “Now, dramatic as that all is, about that diaper…”

“Oh, yes.” Rikuo grew serious all at once, “How do I diaper? The maid changed her and fed her, but I was told she’ll go again before morning.”

Inina sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. This was going to be a long morning. She’s totally calling out today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one decided to hit me in the fact and spit on my grave. Damn guys, it's been like two days, calm down. You're bumming Spectre and Ai out. 
> 
> And we check back in with Team Zaizen! Good to see you guys! And a little bit of the media too! On a tamer outlet at that. Oh honey, you guys have a storm coming if you think I forgot about media harassment.
> 
> Thank you to Katias for the idea and half the dialog for the Bonus. Ya'll weren't going to have a bonus before Kat was like, "Nah brah, you can't do that to them."
> 
> King: In a month Queen is going to wish she were dead.  
> Queen: In a month you WILL be dead.


	9. Chapter 9

* * *

**Occhiolism** : The awareness of the smallness of your perspective. 

* * *

There’s a time in every child’s life when they are forced to face the horrible and world shattering realization that their parents are flawed. It’s a sign of growing up, a sign of becoming your own person, with your own independent thoughts and feelings. And, sometimes, it’s a sign that maybe you’re a better person as well.

Miyu faced this realization when she was only six years old, the day she lost her best friend because of a ring.

She had blamed herself at first, for losing the ring, for Aoi taking the fall. Then, somehow, some way, she had asked herself why her mother punished her like this, why she wasn’t allowed to see her only friend anymore over a stupid ring. It wasn’t important, it wasn’t her papa’s because she didn’t have one, or her grandmother’s because her grandmother was still alive. It was just a dumb ring. Aoi had been her best friend, and her mother ripped them apart for a reason that seems so unimportant. 

Childish, maybe, but important.

Because as she grew older, she grew more sympathetic towards the selfish child she had been. And as she grew more sympathetic to the selfish child, she grew less sympathetic for the selfish mother. 

Miyu had never meant to hate her mother.

Well, perhaps hate isn’t the right word either. She was grateful to the woman, after all, for giving birth to her and for raising her. It was hard being a single mother after all. But it would be a stretch to say she loves the woman either. It would be more accurate to say she resents her, she supposes. She feels resentment.

Yes, resentment, that’s a good word.

It’s not only because of the ring and Aoi, no. It was hundreds of little things. The hovering, the controlling, the demanding. Things that only became worse after the incident where...well...after the Lost Incident. 

Miyu supposes she was one of the lucky ones. Or at least she can’t help but think that looking at the files, staring at the others that were just like her, memorizing their faces. Yes, she’s one of the luckier ones. She doesn’t have a heart condition, like the second one, Suzukage. She isn’t missing, like the third one, Spectre. She wasn’t locked in a mental health center because of her own madness, like the first one, Jin. 

Objectively speaking, she’s the one that turned out the best. Her body is frail and scared, but her health is as good as could be expected from such a thing, and her neighborhood spared no charity making sure she could get the hospital bills paid off when she was first returned to her mother. Her therapy was sabotaged, like the others, but she wasn’t as outwardly taken advantage of as the sixth one, Yusaku. And her mother was able to make arrangements with the school to have her condition accounted for, unlike the fifth child, Takeru.

But, somehow, being the one that turned out the most okay only makes the tragedy of all their situations feel so much worse, because she isn’t happy. She isn’t content. She’s trapped here, with an overbearing mother that lets her go nowhere and do nothing, with memories of white walls the close in on her, trapped in her mother's house with its cream colored walls.

A nightmare, she’s living in a nightmare. She’s living in a nightmare with an overbearing mother that feels more like a warden that wields love as a weapon and Miyu’s past as an excuse to keep her daughter imprisoned. 

And she’s the one that turned out the best.

“Are you sure escape is wise?” Asks the calm voice that came to her only a week ago, Aqua’s pink eyes trained on her as Miyu scrolls through the pictures of the other child for the dozenth time is as many minutes. The creature, the A.I., the Ignis, the thing she created, the being born from her, a piece of her. Whatever you wanted to call it, she was a calm presence in Miyu’s life, like a gentle stream, rolling over the shocking pains of her body. Before, Miyu had become numb to her cage, but Aqua’s calm and gentle nature made her feel braver, somehow, and her easy truth made facing the outside world on her own not so scary. “I had thought the reporters would make such a task less appealing to you.”

“They haven’t made me any more trapped.” Miyu tells the Water Igins, strapping the duel disk around her wrist and standing from her bed, taking a deep breath, “I was always trapped. At least out there, even if they eat me alive, I’ll finally have done something.”

“You could be safe here.” Aqua reminded her gently, because she only ever spoke gently and truthfully, something Miyu never realized how much she appreciated. “Your mother is controlling, yes, but you have been safe and protected from the abuses the others like you have faced.”

“I know, and for that I’m grateful.” Miyu nodded, reaching for a small, pink, backpack and lifting it over her shoulder, “But...just because it wasn’t as bad doesn’t mean it isn’t abuse.”

“A bird would be safe if it never left it’s nest.” Was all Aqua said in response, folding her hands, “But that is not what birds were meant to do.”

“No.” Miyu shakes her head, “No, it isn’t. And it’s time I left the nest. Time has been stopped for too long, I want to start living again. And I’ll start by finding Aoi, and then the others.”

“If that is what you wish, then I will be by your side.” Aqua promised, bowing her head.

Miyu smiled, a warmth blooming in her heart. The unquestioned support was more appreciated than she thinks Aqua would ever truly know, and it gives her strength. The same strength to sneak out now, down the dark hall, creeping down dark stairs, past the living room, never touching a light the whole way down. Her mother would check the cameras and see she’s gone soon, but by then she would be gone.

“Are you ready, Aqua?” She asks as she reaches the door, her skin touching the cool metal of the knob.

“For you, yes?” Aqua nodded, sinking into the duel disk as Miyu turned the handle and flung open the door.

Flashing camera lights were her salvation, and she exited her cage to a chorus of a thousand questions.

* * *

It would be a lie for Ryouken to say he handled his emotions with the same mature grace and stoicism he’s been acting on since he was thirteen years old. But a mature leader doesn’t spend the better part of a week locked within his room just because he was faced with a flurry of upsetting and confusing emotions that he should have been able to know how to handle. He wasn’t a child anymore, after all, he’s an adult, and he should be able to act like one. 

But between the unresolved grief, the revelations surrounding his sordid and, dare he say, broken family history, and everything that was happening with Spectre and especially Yusaku, he hadn’t acted with the maturity he’d come to expect of himself. No, instead he sulked in his room like a coward.

The box of digital frames lay neglected in the corner, abandoned after his unwanted revelation. He’s not sure if the boxes will ever be open again. Or perhaps he’s just falling into dramatics due to his conflicting emotions. Either way, he hasn’t touched them again and he doubts he will do so again for a while.

No, instead of going through those evidences of his parent’s pitiful marriage, Ryouken has half devoted his time to working. And by working, he means he’s spent half his time working and the other half wasting his time watching too many news feeds and too many interviews and speculations over the leaks, because even a week hasn't been enough for things to die down, apparently. Oh, it had been too hopeful to think it would. Left and right people were being arrested, big names in SOLtech and outside SOLtech both, outrage, the economy was half tanked, Vrains was a mess and no one was sure what was happening to it as it’s mother company’s stocks plummeted and former workers spoke out against it. At this rate, Kyoko was never going to be freed from prison.

If he even bothered.

His fingers freeze over the keyboard, pausing in his planning not for the first time. He scolds himself not for the first time since his self-imposed isolation. He’s a terrorist, a leader, he shouldn’t let something as petty as public opinion color his vision. It never has before and it shouldn’t now. Especially in regards to his loyal lieutenant, the woman who had practically raised him in place of his mother and father.

But.

The image of a red haired man is burned into his head. Older than her, stretched thin and ragged, with premature grey staining a streak of his hair. The man has calloused hands and grease stains on his neck, and he has her eyes, and they're so tired. He looks a lot like her, Taki’s brother, and Ryouken is slapped. Objectively, he always knew she had a brother, but he also knew she hadn’t spoken to him in well over a decade. She’d chosen Hanoi over her previous family. As a child, Ryouken thought that meant she was choosing him, their family. Or that her last family hadn’t been good. He thought it was just more proof that they were the real family, and that his path was true and right because his knights were willing to give so much for their cause.

But having seen him with his own eyes...her brother really was a pitiful sight to behold. Fighting back angered tears as he gave his only piece to reporters. 

“She’s not my sister.” The words haunted Ryouken’s ears, “My sister died the moment she didn’t recoil at the _thought_ of hurting a bunch of innocent kids. That woman is just the _thing_ wearing her _corpse_.”

Ryouken decides he’s done thinking about this for now, and not for the first or last time decides to put off working on anything to do with his work with the Knights of Hanoi and focus on his secondary project. Namely, everything he’d promised Yusaku he would do that first day here. 

Maybe he didn’t need to buy Yusaku more clothes. Again. God knows the boy only owned all of two or three outfits before all of this, so maybe Ryouken shouldn’t be buying the younger boy so many different articles of high quality clothing. But it’s distracting, especially since when he does this he also seems to hyper focus and end up with a long debate with himself about whether or not the younger boy would even wear whatever he was buying, or if he would like the colors and materials.

If Yusaku was startled by the fact that Ryouken knew his clothing size, then he hadn’t come banging on the door and demanding an explanation yet. So Ryouken didn’t feel particularly compelled to stop. 

He’s bought Yusaku far too many shirts. 

He doesn’t even know if Yusaku is wearing any of them. He hasn’t actually seen the others since his isolation began. He’s been very careful about avoiding them, and they’ve all seemed to decide that they would respect his space, the only hint of interaction from them being a knock on his door when one of them drops off food at his door.

He was grateful for the space, but the effort was something he hadn’t realized he would be so grateful for, and something he hadn't had on that damnable boat. There really wasn’t a way to reasonably avoid someone in a space that small, so there was never a point in trying. But now he appreciates the small sign that his space is being respected.

But the more days that pass, the more his room starts to feel less like his shield between the humiliation of his break in composure and the more it starts to feel oppressive. He’s very quickly running out of things to do. He’s already spent dozens of hours researching doctors, and trustworthy psychologists that specializes in all the very specific issues they need handled, that he can call to his home for Spectre and Yusaku, but he can’t finalize anything without actually leaving the room and speaking to them about their options.

He knows he has to talk to them eventually, but he…

Yusaku is out there, and he doesn’t know if he's ready to face that after the last conversation they’d had. He...isn’t sure how to feel anymore, and he’s most certainly not sure how he can face Yusaku again. 

Really, where did the other boy get off? Forgiving a scumbag like him. He has no sense of self-preservation at all. Ryouken had known this from the moment he read the leaks and realized the full extent of Yusaku’s self-destructive path, but to face it head on in such a painful way was something he hadn’t expected. He’d thought that the pain brought by the sixth subject couldn’t be surpassed after the events on top the tower. But it seems, as always, he’s far underestimated the strength of the Subject 006’s hold on him.

But he can’t hold up in his room forever, he knows that. And there’s only so many clothes he can buy Yusaku before he has an excuse to avoid him. He can’t just keep buying pink sweaters and loose fitted shirts and telling himself he was doing necessary work.

Ryouken paused.

...was buying clothes you wanted to see on someone for them creepy?

Not for the first time, he wishes he had actual advice growing up. Oh well, it’s far too late to go back on his decisions now.

Running his hands over his face, Ryouken groaned. What was he doing? Holding up here wasn’t going to change the sad reality outside. It wasn’t going to bring his father back, and it wasn’t going to make the man love him. Ryouken has thoroughly failed to live up to the man’s expectations straight out of the womb and nothing would ever change that.

Maybe somewhere along the way he’d changed the man’s mind, became a worthy son. He’s certain his father loved him, that can’t possibly be a lie. He remembers his father, he remembers the fondness, he remembers the small moments no one else saw. He remembers being taken out for dinners, and small gifts, and nodding approval when Ryouken mastered his lessons. That couldn’t all be a lie, he reasons to himself.

But…

Blue eyes track over yet another tab he’s only had the occasional courage to click on. It wasn’t even a personal tab, but his coward heart has only been able to occasionally venture into that realm.

‘ _Na Mamo: Hawaiian People Today. A Guide to History and Tradition._ ’

Ryouken groans again, leaning back against his work seat. What was he doing? What did any of this matter? He shouldn’t care about people that had nothing to do with his life. He shouldn’t care about Taki’s brother. He shouldn’t care about some woman he never met just because she was his mother. She didn’t even know him. She had nothing to do with him growing up. She wasn’t a part of his life, and she wasn’t the one that raised him. He should be _helping_ the woman who _actually_ raised him break out of prison right now. It shouldn’t matter to him what some man not important enough to be a part of her life says about the matter. It shouldn’t matter to him if a woman that _betrayed_ his father who eventually loved him gave birth to him. It shouldn’t matter that she has a family and dozens of pictures.

He’s being stupid.

He’s being so stupid, and over what? Some imaginary life he could have had? One that wasn’t his and never would be? He doesn’t know those people. What he does know is his father who loved him for a time, Dr. Aso, Dr. Taki, and Dr. Gerome. That’s his family. Some pictures shouldn’t change that. 

_“My sister died the moment she didn’t recoil at the thought.”_

The silver haired boy growls, clicking his way through his shopping catalog. These thoughts have been tumbling through his mind the entire week he’s been locked in here, and every day he changes his mind on how he feels about it. He hasn’t been brave enough to look up information on his mother or her extended family yet, just like he hasn’t touched her pictures again. 

But he needs to stop with these mixed feelings. At some point he has to come to terms with the fact his family was a shattered mess, with a father that was far more flawed than he ever wanted to accept, and a mother that was far more alive.

But he doesn’t want that, because that meant accepting that his father was flawed, and accepting that his father was flawed meant accepting the possibility that, maybe, he was _wrong_ . And Ryouken couldn’t accept that, not after everything he’s done, not after all the time, the literal _years_ , he’s spent trying to achieve his father’s last wish. Not after the _people_ he’s hurt to get here. It has to have all been worth something. It has to have been _the right choice_. Because if it wasn’t then what was the _point_ of it all?

All he wanted to do was redeem himself and save humanity, fulfilling his father’s last wish. Was that so wrong? Apparently so, because now he has to doubt even that.

Ryouken folded his hands on his desk, watching the shipping notification pop up. God, how much money has he spent on Yusaku’s clothes by now? More than he should. He rubs his eyes again, resenting it when his stomach decides to growl.

Blue eyes flicker towards the time, narrowing in annoyance when he sees the indicator that it was early morning. Another night without sleep, and no coffee by his side. Because coffee was something that no one seemed to be willing to supply him with when they delivered his meals. No early morning should go without his damn coffee, but he’d gone a whole week now clean. It’s probably part of what’s making him so jittery and uncertain. He needs his damn coffee, and then he’ll calm down and he can think this all through.

But, as always, the thought of leaving his room gives him pause.

“What are you doing?” Ryouken scolds himself, standing up from his chair, “Just go make coffee. The chances of running into him are phenomenally small.” 

Still, his feet didn’t seem to want to move.

“You can’t avoid him forever.” He tells himself, glaring at the door. “You can’t hold yourself in this room forever. You’re the leader of the Knights of Hanoi, you have work and responsibilities, you need coffee.”

It was a bit easier to step towards the door when he reminded himself of that. So he keeps reminding himself of that, “You’re a leader, not someone easily intimidated by a boy with a frail body. Not here in the real world.”

Right, here in the real world, without hacking and dueling, Yusaku would be fairly helpless against him. He’s physically stronger, taller, broader. He isn’t prone to chronic fatigue, or chronic pain, he has all the advantages in the world...

What kind of scumbag hypes themselves up by thinking about how they could physically dominate someone whose whole body was prone to fatigue because of experimentation their family performed against them? What kind of asshole got _excited_ by that?

“Jesus Christ.” He rubbed his face with both hands again, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Apparently everything.

“Right, time for your coffee.” He scolds himself. At this point he just needs to get the damned coffee and calm down, because that’s not acceptable, at all. Jesus Christ, there’s kinks and then there’s just being a sick bastard and he’s pretty sure he was teetering a little too close to that fine line. 

Scolding himself one last time, he throws open the door, leaving his room for the first time in a week. 

Not even a step outside the room, and he immediately doesn’t recognize his own house. 

Ryouken blinks. One, twice, three times. It takes a moment to process the fact that the hall is so radically different than before. The white walls had been painted a much less harsh light brown, with a few mirrors and some of his mother’s decorations. There is a white and green leaf patterned rug running down the floor of the hall, and it’s so out of place in his mind that he has to blink at it for a good minute before he fully processes that it’s there.

He’s seen this hallway thousands and thousands of times, but it looks so foreign right now that it doesn’t even feel like the same one anymore. Half dazed, he steps out of the room, hypnotized by the sight as he wanders through the mansion. 

Was there an _end table_ in this hall? By God.

The daze doesn’t end as he finds himself in the main living room, painted a similar color, mint green furniture with off white throw pillows and coffee colored tables and houseplants absolutely _everywhere_. Spectre’s touch, no doubt. But he can still barely process the sight of it. He can spot his mother’s decorations all over the walls, and hanging from windows, her surfboard leaning against the wall across from the glass walls. The early morning light shining through and giving the room a warm glow.

It was like he’d somehow been transported into a home that wasn’t his own. But he doesn’t dislike it. No, instead it leaves a strange feeling in his chest, something warm and soft and strange. 

He hears the sounds of cooking in the kitchen before he smells it. The soft clatter of metal tapping metal, the sizzling of cooked food, soft voices murmuring softly. The smell hits him next, filling his nostrils and leaving his hungry body aching and growling lightly, mouth watering as he realizes someone is cooking eggs.

Cooking, in his house. 

Slowly, Ryouken turns towards the kitchen and freezes at the sight. 

The kitchen is a soft green color, decorated in more plants, the cabinets painted with vines. And for a moment Ryouken wonders which of his housemates had done that because he’s not sure Spectre knows how to hand paint things. But that’s quickly overshadowed by the sheer marvel of the kitchen counters having machines and utilizes lining it. And even that is overshadowed by the sight of the two people standing at the stove.

Just as fast as his mouth watered at the smell of food, it went _dry_ at the sight.

It was an odd, fantastical, sort of sight. Ryouken doesn’t think he’s ever actually seen Spectre in pajamas before, or any sort of sleepwear for that matter. He hasn’t seen Spectre outside of a suit in years. But he stands there, peering over Yusaku’s shoulder, wearing button up collared pajamas. Yusaku, for his part, seemed to favor a loose T-shirt that fell loosely off one of his shoulders and an equally loose pair of pajama pants.

“You have to keep an eye on it.” Yusaku muttered softly, and that’s when Ryouken’s brain caught up to the fact that, yes, they were cooking. Specifically, Yusaku was cooking, one hand on the handle of a pan and the other working with a spatula. Then his hand left the handle of the pan, reaching towards another egg, cracking it on the edge and letting the yellow yoke join whatever else was in the pan. “It’s not difficult, but they cook fast and you can burn them easily enough.”

“Hmmm.” Spectre hummed, leaning in fully, carefully watching Yusaku’s movements with an intensity only someone as obsessively devoted as he could muster.

Yusaku is teaching him how to cook, Ryouken realized with a start. And he hates how that makes his insides melt into something gooey and warm and too much for him right now. It’s as emotionally overwhelming as everything else right now, he supposes. But...in the opposite way. This wasn’t a despair inducing spiral, or a chain of endless frustrations. Watching these two former victims, two people that had become so important to him, do something so...domestic and innocent together...it filled him with a strange sort of content. 

He hasn’t felt truly content in a long time. It’s almost strange to feel his body relax and his face soften, but it does. He’s content, truly and completely content, to just stand here and watch them.

“Some people add condiments.” Yusaku told Spectre, stirring the eggs in the pan, “Like ketchup or soy sauce. I’ve never tried that though.”

“I imagine you wouldn’t, given what I’ve heard of your budget.” Spectre responded, “I’m only surprised you know how to cook at all.”

“You know I had a few foster parents before I lived on my own.” Yusaku shrugged his shoulders, and he could see the twisting lichtenberg figures dancing down his neck and across his shoulders, down his arms and around his thin wrists. Spectre’s are hidden from sight by his choice in clothing, but Yusaku’s are shamelessly displayed. “Back then I would have done anything to get them to keep me around, so I learned to make them breakfast.”

“How pitiful.” Came Spectre’s mocking voice, “That’s truly pathetic.”

“Says the guy that doesn’t know how to cook.” Yusaku doesn’t miss a beat, knocking the spatula against the pan twice and then lifting it, pouring the now cooked eggs onto an adjacent plate. “And the one so desperate to belong somewhere you went back to your abusers.”

And just like that the contentment is gone, the weight of Yusaku’s words hitting him like a truck. He knew, objectively, that’s what Spectre had done. But hearing it out loud is somehow different. Hearing _Yusaku_ say it is somehow different. It leaves a burning shame in him, and he feels like a _damned fool_ for a moment for never having noticed.

“Well, yes” Spectre agreed, not even bothering to deny the smaller boy’s words or clean them up. And it’s worse, so much worse, hearing _Spectre_ say it. The platinum haired boy didn’t even blink twice, accepting it as a simple truth he’d long accepted. Which also filled Ryouken with the horrible realization that, yes, Spectre did consider the others to be his _abusers._ That his fears that Spectre had only been tolerating the others for his sake was fully realized. And, for the first time in his memory, he felt ashamed to have let the other boy join the Knights of Hanoi. It’s the first time he’s ever felt ashamed of his Knights. It’s so foreign and burning, so terrible a reality to face that it’s paralyzing. But Spectre doesn’t even pause in his banter, continuing as if this wasn’t reality shattering. And to him, it wasn’t, “But you always came off as so independent, I never once considered that, once upon a time, you groveled for attention as well. You’re as pathetic as I used to be.”

“We all want to belong somewhere when we’re young.” Yusaku didn’t even pause, add another egg to the pan. “You once speculated that I must have had a happy life before the incident. I can’t say for sure, but I can say that your parents aren’t the only one that abandoned you, Spectre. The difference is you got lucky because a tree protected you. I got lucky because my onesie was warm enough.”

‘ _Parents Unknown_.’ That’s what Yusaku’s files had said. Clinical, easy. It was easy to deduce that either he’d been an orphan or they couldn’t find his parents after the project. There weren’t personal details like that in the leaks. There wasn’t a firsthand account from Yusaku’s own lips that he’d been abandoned just like Spectre. Ryouken had known that Yusaku ended up in foster care after, the files made that very clear, but the details of how and why were left remarkably blank. 

“How strange, then, that we should end up on opposite sides of this merry little war.” Spectre hummed, still staring down at the sizzling pan with his ever present grin, “Perhaps, in another life, our positions would be reversed.”

“I doubt it.” Yusaku shrugged lightly, tapping the pan with the spatula, “You and I just became involved in different ways. People find different ways to cope with things all the time.” 

Spectre hummed, and seemingly decided that this particular line of conversation would end there. He tapped the edge of the counter, humming lightly, “What else can you cook?”

“Mostly foreign foods.” Yusaku shrugged dismissively, “I’ve been told I make perfect macaroons.”

“Macaroons?” Spectre’s voice sounded delightfully amused, “How eloquent for someone as messy as you. Where _did_ you learn such fine skills?”

“You don’t want to know the answer to that.” Yusaku shrugged again, finally turning to face Spectre fully, “I’ll teach you after you’ve mastered basic cooking.”

“Fujiki, I would be _delighted_ to learn to make macaroons from you.” Spectre seemed so genuinely excited that it made Ryouken’s heart twist. Didn’t he say something about watching baking shows in his free time? He hadn’t even noticed. 

He wasn’t used to seeing Spectre genuinely excited about something. Eager to please, yes. Enjoying his work, of course. But it seemed strange to him to see his longtime companion passionate about something outside of plants and serving him. It was as great a surprise to him as the furniture in the house. But...again, it wasn’t unwelcome. And against his will, he finds that he likes the idea of Spectre and Yusaku getting along, casually living in the same home and sharing honest banter.

“Then we’ll work up to that.” Yusaku told him, moving to scrape more eggs onto another plate. “That’s a long way off, though, so don’t get too excited.”

“I endeavor to master all the challenges you throw my way.” Spectre mused, rubbing his chin, “Speaking of challenges, Kusanagi brought your medications from your apartment, yes? Did you take them?”

“Kusanagi couldn’t find my pills, my landlord probably sold them off to cover damages to the property.” Yusaku sighed, tilting his head to the side as he reached over to turn off the stove, “He threw my furniture on the curve, apparently.”

“All two pieces of it.” Spectre teased lightly, “How dreadful, now you have _no_ excuses to deny my designing expertise for your room.”

“I bet you wanted this, you bastard.” Was Yusaku’s deadpan response.

“Oh look, I should make us coffee.” Spectre turns around then, spinning on his heel to flee the stove and head towards the well used coffee maker. But he pauses and his blue eyes catch Ryouken, and Ryouken himself can only start at the other boy as he froze. “Oh, Sir. You’ve left your room.”

Yusaku’s eyes snapped from the plates he made, green eyes zeroing in on Ryouken as his normally blank face slipped into a split second of surprise before falling back to his normal stoney apathy. “Oh.”

He shifts a bit, not sure why he felt like he’d gotten caught. All he was doing was standing in his own house. Unacceptable. So he refuses to feel guilty about this too, not when he has things to actually feel guilty about. So he straightens out, speaking calmly, “I wanted to get coffee.”

“Right away, sir.” Spectre doesn’t even hesitate, bee-lining for the coffee maker and setting to work, brewing with the well used and elaborate coffee maker, years of experience guiding his hands. Ryouken watched him for a second, not wanting to focus on Yusaku.

But, as always, Yusaku was not one to be ignored. As always, he demanded Ryouken’s attention with his burning eyes and a few short words, “Are you hungry?”

Ryouken frowned, looking back at him, “Excuse me?”

Yusaku’s face was still blank as he reached over and picked up a plate of eggs, “I made breakfast.” 

Blue eyes stared at the full plate blankly at the stack of eggs, quirking a brow after a moment and giving his unimpressed observation, “So I see.” 

“Do you want some?” Yusaku asked patiently, moving forward and setting the plate on the island, where there were actual padded bar stools now, pushing it across the granite countertop and toward Ryouken. “Eat if you’re hungry. I can make some more for myself.”

The blue haired boy gives him no room to protest, turning around and fiddling with the pan again, switching the stove back on. Ryouken sighed, deciding it was better not to waste the food. Besides, Yusaku wasn’t exactly wrong, he could use a meal. So he strolls up to the stool, pulling it out and taking a seat. 

It doesn’t hit him how strange and unfamiliar the scenario is until he’s seated and picking up his utensils. Most of the time he is at his desk while working, or sitting in bed. He never ate in the kitchen, and he certainly never ate a home cooked meal here before. At least, until it occurs to him that the last few meals have probably been home cooked.

He shouldn’t feel so nervous about eating a breakfast of eggs. But the realization that these were cooked in his home, in his kitchen, by Yusaku, hits him hard. It shouldn’t, and this shouldn’t be some grand revelation, he saw Yusaku cooking them after all, but it feels like it anyway. 

He’s in his house, on his furniture, about to eat a home cooked breakfast made by his enemy whom he has romantic feelings for. 

His hands aren’t trembling when he picks up his utensils, but it feels like they should be. He picks up a bit of egg, eyes deciding to glue themselves on Yusaku’s back as the younger boy cracked another egg into the pan, arms moving to keep the yolk from burning. 

Biasly, he thinks the eggs are the best he’s ever eaten. Objectively they probably aren’t. There’s no special secret ingredient added to them, or particularly special technique used to make them. But he can’t help the satisfied hum that leaves his lips. His eyes land on Yusaku’s back again, watching him, and a liquid warmth pools in his chest and leaves him feeling content again.

He could get used to this far too easily, he realizes with a start.

A latte is set down next to him with a small click against the granite, and Ryouken is startled for all of a second as his eyes snap up to face Spectre’s seemingly all knowing grin, an expression he’s become all too familiar with. The other boy sits next to him, his own coffee in hand and his plate before him, “Your coffee, sir.”

“Oh…” Ryouken blinks, straightening himself out, “Yes, thank you Spectre.”

“Or course, sir.” Spectre settles into his seat, grinning widely as he starts enjoying his own breakfast. He speaks between bites, tapping his free hand against the countertop, “Fujiki and Kusanagi have decided to take on the task of teaching me to cook, given their current residency here.”

“Is that so?” Ryouken hums, blue eyes flickering back towards his new housemate, “And where is Kusanagi?”

“It’s Friday.” Yusaku hummed, reaching for a cabinet and pulling out another plate, “He usually spends Friday mornings with Jin. Especially after he had to cut his visit short last Friday to help move us in.”

Ah, that made sense. And, frankly, Ryouken was glad the other man was out of the house for now, because the other man made his feelings regarding him very clear, and he doesn’t want to deal with that when he only just emerged from his room. “Is his brother doing alright?”

“The hospital is good about patient confidentiality.” Yusaku tells him, scooping his own breakfast onto the plate and switching the stove off. Leaving the pan behind as he turns around and joins them at the island, settling himself directly across from Ryouken. “None of the reporters have gotten to him. A few have tried sneaking in, but that’s only gotten them arrested.”

Of course the paparazzi tried to impersonate doctors to sneak into a patient's room. Honestly, there’s no shame. Then again, he’s watched the news, he knows how far they’re willing to go to find out details of the latest and greatest scandal. 

Ryouken pauses, hand lingering over the plate. He should probably make sure Yusaku hadn’t been watching the news, especially considering the prison interviews happening later tonight.

Actually, he doesn’t even know if Yusaku had read the leaks yet. 

For a solid, horrifying, moment Ryouken is hit with the awful realization that he’d been so caught up in his conflicted emotions and terrible realizations that he hadn’t been keeping an eye on Yusaku, which was the whole _point_ of even _bringing_ the boy here. In the week he’d been shut up in his room brooding, Yusaku could have read the entirety of the leaks several times, had ten different panic attacks over it, and come to terms with it all without Ryouken being any the wiser.

Even the idea of it leaves his stomach kerning bitterly. He doesn’t know why the thought hadn’t occurred to him sooner. No. No, that was a lie. He knew exactly why. It was because he was too busy angsting over how his father wasn’t perfect, and didn’t love his mother, and didn’t hold him as a baby, and every one of Ryouken’s fears about having to earn his father’s love was realized. And because he was pining over the ideal mother he’d lost in the face of reality, losing the smart, confident, elegant, intelligent scientist in favor of a messy, sad, real woman his father had thrown away when she became inconvenient.

...his father had thrown away his _wife_ when she became inconvenient. Someone he was supposed to _love_ and he threw her away because she had done the same thing Ryouken himself would eventually succumb to. The same traitor blood burning through their veins. Only she had been worse, putting herself on the front line and pointing the finger at his father, daring to take him down to save those that would be hurt by the Hanoi Project, only to fail. Ryouken hadn’t wanted that. He’d only wanted the children gone without his father getting into trouble, so he’d left an anonymous tip and waited, only to be hit with cold reality when SOLtech did what the police had failed to do and locked his father away.

Had his father resented him in those three years he was gone? Ryouken wondered it many, many, times during his lonely days in this mansion. Only Spectre and the occasional visits from the other doctors, the ones that got away, to alleviate his loneliness. It’s bitter to think about now, when his father is gone for good now, and it only becomes more bitter with his new knowledge. To think, the whole time he’d had a mother out there he could have been with, one that _had_ , apparently, tried to appeal for custody when his father supposedly died. All while he was being raised on and off by his future lieutenants, secretly half glad for their sometimes presence, and secretly half resentful that it wasn’t one of them that had been taken instead of his father. 

Now? Now he doesn’t know if it was better for him or not that his father was forced away from him for some time. If his father’s love is something earned, and Ryouken had proved himself a child more like his mother than was convenient, then it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that he, too, could have become an inconvenience. 

He doesn’t want to consider the possibility that his father could have gotten rid of him, but…

_“The Ignis are like my own children.”_

It wasn’t an unfounded fear. Clearly, his father had decided he was worth love and attention in the hours before his death, his sacrifice was proof enough of that. Somewhere along the way he’d earned his father’s affections and made it outweigh his mistakes enough to not become a nuisance like his mother, or an active threat like the Ignis. Somehow he’d won a contest of affections enough that he outweighed his father’s goals, if only for a day. Now he’s his father’s living legacy, the only thing left to continue his work and destroy the Ignis. 

But in another world? In another world he could have ended up just as discarded as his mother, and that thought terrifies him. 

His father genuinely loved him, but it was a love he had to earn and fight for. A love that could have been lost in a split second with the wrong word or action. Somehow, he doubts that things would have played out the same if his father knew he’d withheld information from him about Playmaker’s identity. The truth is, Ryouken is lucky to have had his father’s affections, and it was only the melancholy of an already fleeting life and the will to see his work continued that allowed his father to make the sacrifice he had. 

He’d spent the whole week agonizing over this, trying to wrap his mind around this concept, but he only finds himself accepting it here and now because, suddenly, that’s not the most important issue anymore.

No. Somehow, someway, Yusaku had once again stepped up to challenge his father’s place as the most important piece of his heart. Challenging the occupancy of his thoughts with the simple revelation that Ryouken had spent so long obsessing over the fleeting love of a dead man that he’d neglected the one task he’d given himself. 

Somehow, Ryouken isn’t surprised that Yusaku so easily challenges his resolve. He always has, ever since the day they’ve met, when it was so easy for him to forget why he wanted to bring someone home underneath the weight of those green eyes. When it was easy to call the police and betray his father, when it was so easy to hide his identity from the others when he could have shared it and stolen the Dark Ignis and avoided the Tower of Hanoi altogether. 

And, somehow, all the worry he’d had trapped in his room felt wasted when he looked across the island counter into those green eyes, scared hands moving as he ate his breakfast with the same quiet intensity with which he tackled everything else in life, gaze having flickered away from Ryouken and down to his food as he interpreted the conversation as being done after moments of no response. Because for all he commanded Ryouken’s attention, he didn’t expect it. 

_Oh_ , Ryouken realizes very suddenly, Yusaku doesn’t expect to have his anymore.

And it’s his own fault, this was what he wanted, he’d wanted to push Yusaku away back when the other boy was the one reaching out his hand and demanding they build a new future together. His siren song eyes singing promises that were more tempting than anything he could imagine. He’d been drowned by those eyes twice before, he’d thought back then, but Yusaku never expected him to drown. He’d never intended that. He just wanted Ryouken to live with him, not knowing that doing so would destroy the life he’d been accustomed to forever, but now he did, and now he wasn’t offering quite so aggressively.

Ryouken misses it.

Because he wants Yusaku in his life. That’s why he was here, because a part of Ryouken thought they could make that future. Because he wanted Yusaku by his side no matter the cost, and he thought that, perhaps, he could bring the boy to his side in time. 

By his side, where he always wanted that green eyed siren in the sixth room. 

_Oh_ , Ryouken realizes, watching Yusaku eat his breakfast across the countertop. This was what he’d wanted the whole time. Not another soldier or loyal subordinate. Not a hacker, or an unstoppable force, or a task to alleviate his guilt. Not a warm body to bend over his bed when he’s lonely at night. He wanted this. 

_Oh_ , Ryouken realizes, _I’m in love with you_.

Actual love, with feelings and messy things. Not just lust, or guilt, or desire. Not a fleeting crush that he could ignore, not something he could bury alive and leave to suffocate. He’s been obsessed with this boy since childhood, and he’s only grown worse with every passing year until their tragic reunion.

_Damn you_ , Ryouken thinks as he realizes why those siren song eyes called to him at last. And suddenly he can see why he kept choosing Yusaku over his father. _You’ve ruined me, and you don’t even realize it._

Thrice Yusaku has challenged his father’s place as the most important thing to him, and thrice Ryouken has chosen Yusaku. And there had been no trickery or expectation then, there had been no attempts to force Ryouken to choose. Yusaku hadn’t asked Ryouken to choose until after Ryouken had torn himself apart trying to keep both, reaching out his hand in hopes Ryouken would take it. And it had been the only time he’d denied the other boy.

But now his father was gone, nothing but a legacy left, and Yusaku was here. Eating the breakfast he made in Ryouken’s furnished, painted, house. Ryouken’s house he’d had painted and bought furniture for _because_ Yusaku was living there now. His house that was decorated in his mother’s old things because he thought it would be good for Yusaku.

_Fuck_.

How long had Yusaku been more important to him than his father? A day? A week? A month? A year? Ten years? Had it always been this way? Since the moment he laid his eyes on those pools of stunning green and forgotten why he’d placed himself on that street corner and waited for someone to find him? Had it been sometime over that single, wonderful, day of talking and playing and sharing secrets? Had it been when they bonded over their favorite cards? Had it been when they’d fallen asleep on the living room floor just behind him? Had it been when he’d woken up first because his father came home and told him how proud he was? Had it been watching that boy suffer over the course of six months because of _him_?

Ryouken can’t say what the singular moment that made Yusaku subconsciously more important than his father was, but if he had to guess...

_“Ryou?”_

No.

No, it doesn’t bear thinking about. It doesn’t matter how this started, what matters is how he chooses to process and apply this information now that he knows it. Blue eyes flicker over the boy, taking in the too thin body, the bags under his eyes, the spider web scarring that stretches from neck to fingertips to ankles.

In times of crisis such as this, he likes to review what he knows and decide the best course of action from there. One, he is in love with Fujiki Yusaku, however ill advised. Two, he possibly has been this way for a number of years and in heavy denial. Three, he is living with Fujiki Yusaku due to circumstances that have crippled both of their ability to be seen in the public eye and live their normal lives. 

So what to do about this?

Fujiki Yusaku was Playmaker, and Playmaker was Revolver’s enemy in the war between ignis and humanity. Revolver has also been forced to realize that he can, has, and will choose Fujiki Yusaku over his own father and, apparently, the rest of humanity given the right temptation and a lack of reminder for what’s at stake. This, Ryouken determines, is dangerous to his goals.

So what to do?

The way he sees it, he has three options. One, he could choose to reject these feelings and continue his goals despite heartbreak. This, of course, is not the most appealing option, so he chooses not to pursue it. Second, he could abandon his goals and choose to give into Yusaku’s proposed future that he’d once rejected. Or three, he could continue to try and bring Yusaku to his side.

But, Ryouken reminds himself with a start, he can’t proceed without first gauging Yusaku’s own feelings for him. He knows that, whatever Yusaku feels now, there were at least feelings of thankfulness and devotion that the boy has carried for a whole decade. Neither of them have spoken to the debts or reasons for this devotion, but the implications of it leave him far more pleased now than he would have thought. Yusaku spent ten years looking for him based only on his voice and words alone. And while that, alone, doesn’t indicate romantic feelings, it does speak to the level that Ryouken’s importance and influence over the other sank. Even if it was simply gratefulness, that leaves room for something else, there was a devotion that could bloom into something more.

No one would spend ten years off of just gratefulness alone, he thinks. There has to be more. There has to be potential. There has to be a chance. 

He would have to test the waters, see if he could cultivate those feelings in a romantic direction. Assuming there wasn’t already a chance. Again, he would have to test the waters and see if there was an attraction or budding attraction. 

But first he needs to clear the air between them, make sure Yusaku is living well, and gauge whether or not Ryouken had failed at his most basic mission. And he’s about to do just that, parting his lips to prepare to ask his first question, when he’s _rudely_ interrupted.

“Oi, Yusakuuuuu~. What do eggs taste like?” The Dark Ignis peers out from the deep folds of Yusaku’s pajama pockets, surprising Ryouken. He hadn’t even realized it was there, assuming Yusaku had left his duel disk unattended in his room since the duel disk wasn’t attached to his wrist. In hindsight, he should have realized Yusaku would never be so careless as to leave the Ignis where enemy hands could steal it. Likely he simply relocated the bulky duel disk because it wasn’t convenient for cooking.

Yusaku really should upgrade his duel disk and get the sleeker model. One of the more convenient and fashionable ones with faster software and better mobility. He’d look good with one, pretty like a bracelet on his wrist, or a jeweled cuff. It would be much better than using the same duel disk he was forced to use during captivity at any rate. And it would come with the added convenience of letting him know when the Dark Ignis was there to ruin his day. 

“They taste like eggs.” Yusaku gives an uninspired answer, green eyes flickering towards the annoyance. “Not really much to them.”

“What a creative way to describe taste.” Spectre, who Ryouken had _forgotten_ was there, spoke, making him jump the slightest bit. He turned, eyes widening just the slightest bit in surprise, only to find Spectre’s own gaze firmly on him, a knowing grin on his face.

Then came the embarrassing realization that he’d just spent maybe ten solid minutes doing nothing but staring at Yusaku eating. And Spectre had seen the whole thing. 

Oh _god_. 

There’s no way Spectre didn’t know, not with the way he was grinning. Ryouken coughs into his hand, purposely looking away to speak with Yusaku, taking his chance while he can, “Fujiki, did you get your mattress? An actual mattress, not a dog bed.”

The look Yusaku gave him was downright reproachful, only matched by the unimpressed look the Dark Ignis gave him as well, wrapping his arms around those thin wrists and glaring at him intently. But the blue haired boy only pats it’s head absentmindedly, answer the question with the same cool apathy he’d come to expect from him, “Kusanagi took your advice and got the most expensive mattress he could find.” 

Ryouken nodded, pleased with that situation at least, “And he picked up all your things?”

For a fleeting moment, Yusaku’s face fell. It was easy to miss, almost quicker than a blink, but it was gone. Yusaku’s attention turned back to his now empty plate, hand absentmindedly petting the Dark Ignis, “Almost everything. Some things were lost. My electronics, my medication, my Maidbot…”

“We can replace those things.” Ryouken told him evenly, “So long as you’ve put precautions in place for your laptops and login gear being stolen.”

“Of course I have.” Yusaku told him, voice taking on an edge, “I’m no fool.”

“We can’t just replace Roboppy! Stupid Revolver!” The Dark Ignis shakes his tiny fist at Ryouken, garling it’s little eyes fiercely.

“Ai.” Yusaku warned lightly, looking back to Revolver, “I appreciate the thought, but my Maidbot was heavily personalized and had all my medications and schedule memorized. It bothers me that they were possibly stolen.”

“Do you have a tracker in it?” Ryouken asked bluntly, ignoring the Dark Ignis indigent cry and subsequent displeasure as it shouted it’s displeasure at him. Yusaku also ignored him, frowning and shaking his head, “No, it never occurred to me that my Maidbot, of all things, would be stolen when I built them.”

Sloppy. Or, at the very least, a sign of how little regard he had for himself. If someone were to become privy to the fact the robot is in charge of keeping track of his medications it would be easy to tamper with his health by sabotaging the Maidbot and tampering with the medicine. He doesn’t expect such a blind spot from Yusaku, unless the boy had other measures in place, like double checking his medications or security against hacking or rewriting the bot. Either way, Ryouken doesn’t like it. But it doesn’t matter now, so he shrugs, “I’ve been looking into more reliable and trustworthy doctors anyway. It’s time to review what medications you need anyway. You too, Spectre.”

Spectre’s head snapped towards him, smug smile slipping from his lips. Yusaku, however, merely looked skeptical, “Don’t tell me you chose the doctor for me.”

“I thought you wouldn’t appreciate that. I compiled a list.” Ryouken takes another bite of his breakfast, “Psychiatrist too. Both of you.”

Yusaku’s face actually screwed at that, displeasure clear. Ryouken could feel the weight of it on him as Yusaku’s eyes narrowed on him, “You of course, realize, why I might be a bit... _resistant_...to seeing one.”

“That’s why I ran extensive background checks for you to look over.” Ryouken’s eyes flickered over to Spectre, “For both of you. You’re not getting out of this Spectre. You both need to review what medications you need.”

Despite his assurances, neither boy looked particularly pleased. Spectre he could understand, Ryouken had never made him see a psychiatrist before, but Yusaku had been warned a week ago that Ryouken was going to start looking. It must be different hearing the promise and facing it, Ryouken supposes. Whatever the case, he has no pity, “No one else can assign you the pills you need for your depression.”

The blue haired boy’s lips thinned. “I haven’t taken antidepressants in years.”

“And that concerns me.” Ryouken told him bluntly.

He feels like he should be offended by the surprise that temporarily paints Yusaku’s features before he hides it again behind his shield of apathy, but then Ryouken recalls that he doesn’t usually so blatantly admit his care. Truly, his newfound revelation is already coloring his actions. But it at least works to his advantage here, his blunt words surprising and disarming his opponent. The blue haired boy could only blink, nodding lightly, “Oh.”

“You can both look over it later, I don’t care who you pick.” Ryouken continued, looking back towards his breakfast, “But you do need to pick someone, or else we can’t get the pills.”

“Do you want to finally say, sir?” Spectre asked, pulling back Ryouken’s attention. Two sets of blue eyes locked in fierce battle as his companion made his play, “You, yourself, have been facing conflict as of late. Perhaps psychological counseling would not be ill advised.” 

Son of a _bitch_.

“I don’t need medication.” Ryouken points out immediately, because he’s not going to allow himself to be dragged into this trap just because they’re not happy with him. They’re going to get their therapy if Ryouken has to drag them to it.

Unfortunately, it appears that over the week Spectre has managed to bond enough with Yusaku to turn him into an ally. Or, at the very least, Yusaku was an opportunistic bastard not unwilling to temporarily ally with an enemy. “He’s right, with the leaks and everything, you could probably use some counseling. Maybe review whether or not you need pills.”

Ryouken was about to open his mouth to retort, when the words Yusaku spoke registered in his mind. Eyes narrowing, he felt displeasure build, a bit of anger boiling in him as the words involuntarily left his lips, “You read the leaks, haven’t you?”

Yusaku didn’t even hesitate, “Of course I have, a little bit at a time every night.”

Spectre and the Dark Ignis both hissed at that, their eyes flickering between Yusaku and Ryouken as they realized a repeat of what happened last time the four of them were alone together might very well be repeated. And Ryouken was ready for just that to happen, a tongue lashing ready to leave his lips, but he paused. 

No, it would be useless to scold Yusaku here. The other boy was expecting it, going by the way he was sizing up defensively, already preparing for the argument. No, Yusaku was too stubborn to be scolded into stopping. If the argument from last week didn’t prove that, then his history as Playmaker would. No, there was no stopping him.

Then what, Ryouken wondered, could he do?

A reverse play.

“I suppose if I told you to stop, you’d tell me that you have a right to that information.” Ryouken played his hand very, very, carefully, not unlike a duel. “That since it’s information involving your life and the rest of the victims, that you have a right to see what’s in those leaks, regardless of how it affects your mental health.”

“You would be right.” Yusaku’s jaw was set in a hard line, eyes narrowed in a dangerous glare as he realized that Ryouken was changing tactics. That glare wasn’t unlike Playmaker’s, he mused, but somehow, despite the mask of strength and confidence of Playmaker, those eyes forever burned fiercer on Fujiki Yusaku’s face. Vrains simply failed to capture the vibrancy of his eyes the way the real world did. Yet another proof that reality was far superior to the escapist Vrains. 

“I don’t want you looking at those things.” Ryouken told him bluntly, again, “Because that information will do you no good. You already know everything you need to.”

“I find the information enlightening, actually.” Yusaku defied him bluntly, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“I’m sure the cost has been very much worth it.” He hopes the words sound half as sarcastic as they’re meant to be. “Does Kusanagi know about this?”

The young boy’s lips thinned, “He knows…”

“He doesn’t like it, does he?” Ryouken folds his arms over the counter, “If everyone is telling you that, perhaps, you shouldn’t do something, has it ever occurred to you that it may be wrong?”

“That’s never stopped you.” Yusaku bite back harshly, “The whole world telling you that you were wrong wasn’t enough.”

It hurts to hear, it really does, enough to almost make him wince. But he should have expected it. Yusaku is on the defensive, for something toxic to his own health, possibly still repressing how badly damaged his mental health was right now. No, Ryouken isn’t going to let Yusaku turn this on him. 

“How far along have you gotten?” He demanded, lips thinning, finger tapping absentmindedly against granite. 

“Far enough.” Yusaku clicked his tongue, eyes still trained on him. He didn’t elaborate any further than this, leaving the question frustratingly unanswered.

What to do? What to do?

If he wants Yusaku to stop, he’ll have to make excellent arguments. To do this he would have to come up with something the younger boy couldn’t argue against. Three things. But that held the problem that Yusaku could, and would, argue back, possibly irrationally considering. He can almost picture the argument in his head, ticking off the advantages to knowing what information was out in the public.

It was too late to stop this completely, Ryouken decided. Yusaku has already seen enough information to psychologically scar himself. With nothing but the cold comfort of certainty to work him through whatever panic attacks he put himself through reading that information. 

Infuriatingly, Ryouken realized that there was nothing he could do. It was too late for Yusaku not to see the information at all. He knew. His own information was probably the first he read before slowly going through the others. He probably already knew everything. The foster parents that were carefully selected, the doctors and police that were paid off, the sabotaged therapy and social workers, the leaked videos, the Knight’s cold and clinical review of his performance during the experimentation. 

It makes his blood boil just thinking about it. Yusaku, hidden in his room, just next to Ryouken, reading through that trash all alone and sending himself into an attack, all without him being any the wiser because he was too busy worried about a dead man’s love.

“If you’ve read enough…” Ryouken trends dangerously, risking it all on his next play, “Then there’s no more need to keep reading.”

“And what if I want to?” Yusaku, ever contrary and purposely obtuse, challenged. “What are you going to do? Stop me?”

He could. He could shut down the wifi, steal Yusaku’s duel disk and delete the information from it, along with the Ignis, and then chuck the thing outside the window. With everything going on right now that would leave Yusaku stranded and unable to do anything, and Ryouken would complete part of his mission at long last, and it would feel so, so, good.

But…

Yusaku would hate him.

Yusaku would hate him for taking away his agency. Yusaku would hate him for betraying their truce. Yusaku would hate him for taking advantage of the trust he so foolishly gave again, to the wrong person, to hurt a thing he considered important. And it would serve him right, teach him to stop trusting the wrong people at last, force him to see that others suffered the consequences of his misplaced trust for once.

Except this was Yusaku, and Yusaku never seemed to fucking learn.

And, selfishly, he didn’t want Yusaku to hate him.

Dammit. 

“At least don’t read that nonsense alone.” He hisses, knowing that there was nothing he could do. Defeated, he poked what was left of his breakfast, finishing it off bitterly as he realized he only had one thing left he could try. 

With a resigned sigh he placed the only move he had left on the table, knowing it was his only chance left. It would be a bold play, one he hadn’t wanted to make, but it at least came with the added bonus helping him test just how far Yusaku’s care for him went , “If you stop, then I’ll go to therapy too.”

It was a powerful play, one that had Spectre’s eyes shifting between them intently and Yusaku sucking in a long breath. The blue haired boy’s lips thinned, his hands falling against the granite and tightening into a white knuckled grip. Those green eyes burned on him, more fierce than ever, burning through his skin and into his very soul.

Finally, after too long of intense, burning, silence, Yusaku spoke, “Only if you have an equal of sessions as you’re assigning Spectre and I.”

“Half.” Ryouken negotiated, just to be difficult. 

“Equal, no debating.” Yusaku folded his hands, “And I won’t complain about my sessions unless I don’t like the doctor.”

“You can’t read the leaks at all.” Ryouken negotiated right back.

“I can read them with the therapist.” Yusaku shot back, those eyes liquid fire now, “Those are my terms, take them or leave them.”

He could argue more, maybe see if Yusaku was bluffing and call him out on it, but honestly, he’s already gotten much further than he’d hoped. And, privately, he’s pleased that Yusaku cares enough about him to heavily negotiate for his therapy so much. It wouldn’t be as effective for him, he thinks, because he’s not a trauma victim like he and Spectre, nor did he have their history with abuse and abandonment. His issues he’s learnt to deal with a long time ago, and he doubts that he’ll receive as much help as the other two, particularly since he doesn’t need medication. “Alright.”

Yusaku leans back, letting out a satisfied hum.

“Oh my.” Spectre takes a sip of his coffee, hiding his smile behind the rim of his cup, “I suppose that means you’ll be helping Fujiki and I decide which therapist and doctors to see.”

Oh how quickly we come to regret our decisions.

Or, at least, he regretted it until he saw the breifist flash of smug satisfaction play across Yusaku’s features and the first thing that crossed his mind after _that_ was how much he was going to like wiping that look off his face when he flung the smaller boy onto that new furniture and mark his neck until the only thing he knew how to do was to keep begging Ryouken for more.

Fuck, seriously? At breakfast? 

He really needed to get a handle on this. He can’t be having fantasies about bending Yusaku over the breakfast table _while_ he was at breakfast. For God’s sake, it would be two more years before the other boy was even in legal age for those kinds of thoughts to be anywhere close to acceptable. Damned feelings, he couldn’t have realized them three months ago when he _could_ have had sex with Yusaku guilt free?

“If we’re all done.” Spectre was the one who interrupted his inappropriate complaints, grabbing Ryouken’s empty plate along with his own and Yusaku’s, “I’ve been wanting to try the dishwasher for years.”

“We have a dishwasher?” Ryouken mused, looking around the kitchen only to see that, yes, they do have a dishwasher.

Yusaku gave him a decidedly unimpressed glare, “Have you ever washed a dish in your life?”

“We had plates.” Ryouken states maybe a little too defensively. Then, in a moment of sheer embarrassment, he realizes he never actually washed any of those plates, Spectre did. And judging by the look Yusaku was giving him, he knew this very well.

“If Kusanagi were here, he’d call you a rich bastard and lament that you’ve never done chores in your life.” Yusaku told him blandly, tapping his finger against the counter.

Then the Dark Ignis decided to shame Ryouken as well, “Must be nice growing up with lots of Maidbots to do all your dusting.”

“You had a Maidbot.” Ryouken points out blandly, because he’s not going to be shamed like this in his own damned house. “You can hardly talk.”

That, for whatever reason, killed Yusaku’s mood. And only too late did Ryouken realize that, for Yusaku, this was _playful teasing_ , and the chance was gone as the boy turned his green eyes out the window, frowning deeply, “I hope whoever took her gave her a good home.”

Oh.

“She”, he’d called it. Like it was a person with thoughts and feelings, or a being capable of being assigned gender. That isn’t healthy. He clearly put too much emotional attachment on something that can never truly love him back. This is exactly what he was talking about with escapism and becoming too emotionally dependent on things like Vrains. He would have to snap Yusaku out of this unhealthy attachment.

“Like I said before, it’s just a Maidbot.” Ryouken reminds Yusaku, trying to sound reasonable, “I have plenty of Maidbots, and if you really need help keeping track of your pills, I can purchase you a CareUnit or HelperBot.”

“He’s trying to replace Roboppy!” The Dark Ignis let out a horrified squeal, for lack of a better word, leaning against Yusaku’s hand like it couldn’t stand, waving an accusing finger at him, “ _He’s trying to replace the cleaning lady_. You’re _sick_ , Revolver, **_sick_**! No one can just _replace_ the cleaning lady! She’s a special cleaning lady!”

Ryouken quirked a brow at the display of dramatics. 

“He’s right…” Yusaku responded quietly, snapping Ryouken’s attention right back to him. He was distressed to find that the blue haired boy looked melancholy, shoulders slumping in _defeat_. “I programmed her myself.”

Oh no, sentiment.

“You can program the CareUnit.” Ryouken hesitantly promised, hoping that would turn Yusaku’s attention away from his out of date robot. 

But, apparently, he was fighting a losing battle, because that just made the other boy’s jaw tighten for a moment. The blue haired boy turned to him then, lips set in a deep frown, “That’s not the point, Ryouken…”

He really was upset about that robot, wasn’t he? Ryouken couldn’t understand it. It was just a robot, it could be replaced. Why was he so distraught about it? “Then explain it to me.”

Yusaku sighed, looking exhausted just from hearing the question alone. But he tried to explain, taking his time to think his words over a bit before speaking, “I can't trust people not to hurt me.”

The words were so unexpected that they honestly threw Ryouken for a loop, his eyes widening as he felt his body physically jerks from the unexpected words, “What?”

  
  


Yusaku only shook his head, “Experience has taught me that people can’t be trusted. Robots, on the other hand, only do what they're programmed to. They can't hurt you unless you program them that way.”

Yes, and they also can’t love you unless you program them that way. That was the point of this discussion. 

But Yusaku wasn’t done, tapping his fingers against the granite as he spoke, “I programmed Roboppy myself. She was the first thing I ever got for myself with my own money, and having her there to remind me to take care of myself helped a lot with just living day to day. Robots don't judge you for your problems.”

Ah, it was starting to make sense now.

“And I understand your feelings.” Ryouken coughed into his fist, trying to sound sympathetic despite how alien the idea of being so dependent on a Maidbot, of all things, is. “I just don't think it's healthy to be that attached to an inanimate object. I know you've been dependent on it for years, but it isn't real affection it feels, Yusaku. It was just a program, and you don't need it anymore. I have other Maidbots we can depend on, and-”

“That’s not the _point_ , Ryouken.” Yusaku’s eyes snapped on him, burning again, but this time with something akin to distress, “Roboppi never called me pathetic for crying after having a nightmare, Roboppi didn't tell me to ' _suck it up_ ' and ' _quit being such a baby_ ' and go to school when even moving an inch caused my body to seize up from the pain. She may just be a robot to you, something inanimate and without feelings, but to me? She was the only one I could comfortably rely on, without feeling like I'd be attacked for my trauma.”

The words were slowly becoming more and more venomous as he spoke, becoming more and more resentful as he spoke. This, he realized, is what Yusaku looks like when he’s becoming freshly overcome with anger. Not an explosion, or a thundering storm, but a boiling poison, a venom that seeps into the soul. Slow but agonizing, a mask slowly peeling back to reveal the anger beneath. It was a terrifying sight to behold, and it paralyzed Ryouken.

“The _point_ is, Ryouken…” Yusaku wasn’t done with him. Those siren eyes turned on him, green boiling like deadly acid as he spoke, “My abuse didn't _stop_ with your father. _Every_ adult in my life has failed me at some point. _All_ of them. There isn't _one_ that hasn't either _abused_ me, or neglected me, or _failed_ to _notice_ I was abused. Roboppy was the only paternal figure in my life that _hasn't_.”

It's a slap, or it feels like it. The words might as well have been, for all that they hurt. They were stinging, sudden, and unbearably painful. A cold shock to the system that leaves you breathless and paralyzed. 

He couldn’t do anything right, he couldn’t say anything right. The truth is, he doesn’t understand Yusaku at all. He knows the boy, knows everything in clinical, painful, detail. But he doesn’t understand. He knew Yusaku was a foster child, and he knows the foster system is infamously bad, but it doesn’t hit him until Yusaku is spitting those words, in painfully accurate detail. That was his life, his pains, things he survived lay bare before Ryouken, the unexpected consequences of the Hanoi Project once again thrown in his face. 

Because physical pains weren’t enough. Scars weren’t enough. Frailty and nerve damage and medications weren’t enough. Ryouken had never had to go to school, and he never made Spectre attend either, they were both home-schooled, so he never had to face going when he wasn’t well, or in the mood. The others, when they were there, were always sympathetic to his moods and pains. It never even occurred to him that someone wouldn’t be after the trauma they faced.

_Except that Yusaku’s foster parents didn’t know what kind of trauma they faced_ . No, they were just told he was traumatized. Suffering the aftereffects of severe abuse. But even then he never thought that anyone could be so dismissive of someone’s suffering, of a _child’s_ suffering.

But the pain on Yusaku’s face is raw and real, a thing that he has to face now. And the younger boy isn’t at all alright. He stands, suddenly, storming out of the room, and Ryouken, fool that he is, instinctively stands to follow, chasing his childhood obsession into the warm living room, so bright and alive in a way that it’s never been.

“Yusaku, don’t walk away from me upset.” He catches the boy’s too thin wrist, stopping him from storming further away. 

The blue haired boy world on him, green eyes still raw with years of unresolved pain. “What? Like you always do?”

He wasn’t wrong, that was the worst part. He always walked away when he was upset, preferring not to face those terrible emotions. It wasn’t a habit with just Yusaku, it was one he’d just adopted over the years, walking away so as not to show weakness to his subordinates.

But Yusaku wasn’t a subordinate. No. Ryouken wanted more from him than that, he realized that now. So he can’t just keep walking away from him. If he wanted Yusaku by his side, and _oh_ , he did, then he had to start approaching the boy with a different strategy than as a subordinate or an enemy.

He wants Yusaku, all of him, and to get that he has to show they’re on equal footing.

Well, Ryouken wasn’t one to do things by half measures. So he fell to his knees, right there against the carpet, hands clenched tightly around Yusaku’s wrist, pressing his forehead against the other boy’s knuckles, eyes slipping closed, “I’m sorry.”

The boy froze above him, sucking in a sharp breath, “What are you doing? Get up.”

“I’m sorry.” He emphasizes again, eyes peeling open. He pulled his head back, hands still wrapped around Yusaku’s wrist. He could feel the traces of the scars beneath his fingertips, feel the thin wrist bone beneath his thumb, feel the veins beneath too soft skin. “I don’t understand, but I’ll try to be better. So don’t walk away angry.”

Yusaku’s hand trembles, and his breath hitches. Ryouken risks looking upwards, but all he can see is the burning green of those eyes staring down at him with something raw and familiar. Exhaustion, pain. Trust. Again. Here of all places, where Ryouken betrayed his first and only childhood friend. The irony doesn’t escape him, but this is too critical a moment to appreciate this.

“That goes both ways, Ryouken.” Yusaku states firmly, shaking his head, “You can’t just walk away from me again when you get upself.”

“I won’t.” He promises.

“I’m serious.” Yusaku states firmly, “If you want...whatever we are, to work, then you can’t walk away from me. Not again. I can’t only take so much.”

“Alright.” Ryouken nods, fingers tracing against the scars on the thinner boy’s wrist.rubbing his thumb over it almost absentmindedly, “I’m trying to be better, but I need time. Just give me more time.”

“How much time am I supposed to give you? I gave you ten years and you didn’t _want_ it. Then I gave you two months, but you came back and demanded me and my compliance when you didn’t even know what you wanted.” Yusaku shakes his head, “You can’t just go criticizing me for the way I cope with the abuse, Ryouken. Not you. I forgive you for everything, but that doesn’t give you free reign.”

“I know.” Ryouken amidst, standing now, blue eyes never breaking from green even as he stands taller now. “Yusaku.”

The boy physically jerks at the use of his name, eyes widening.

“I...have been fairly isolated from the world.” Ryouken admits hesitantly, still not used to sharing weaknesses and flaws willingly, “I’m wealthy, and I’ve never interacted with anyone that wasn’t either wealthy or a scientist. Not in a long, long, time. I don’t know what it’s like to be abused, or to have to go to school when I’m not well. I was treated well, and I suppose that’s left me with a bit of…”

“A lack of perspective for impoverished and mentally ill people?” Yusaku finished for him. "Or people with physical disabilities that rely on robots or Vrains to live their daily lives comfortably?"

“Yes.” Ryouken swallows, a little overwhelmed with how bluntly Yusaku is putting his words.

Yusaku’s face became sympathetic then, more understanding. He sighed, once again an exhausted sound. “Ryouken, Roboppy was all I had, for years. It doesn’t matter if she was programmed to feel a certain way or not. To me, a repeat survivor of abuse, losing her was like losing the closet thing I had to a parent.”

“...alright.” Ryouken tried, slowly.

Yusaku frowned, then, more slowly, “To me, losing Roboppy was like Spectre losing his tree.”

Oh.

_Oh_.

Well now he just feels like a prick. 

“Yeah.” Yusaku sighed again, pulling his wrist away, “So I’m upset, and I...don’t want to talk about replacing her. And I would appreciate it if you didn’t try.”

“...alright.” The silver haired boy nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t…”

“I know.” Yusaku shakes his head, blue and pink bangs brushing his forehead, “You’re biased, you don’t like A.I. or depending on things that aren’t in the real world. But, Ryouken, not all of us have that luxury. So just...try to be patient with my feelings. You did it for Spectre, so I’m asking you to do it for me.”

“I will.” He promised solemnly, a vow he wouldn’t let himself break again. “I’ll try. Just...don’t walk away from me if I slip back into old habits.”

“I won’t.” Yusaku promised, eyes slipping closed, “But only if you do the same. I believe in you, Ryouken, but you have to meet me halfway here. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life being the one chasing you if you don’t want me to meet you. That’s not how any of this works, you have to want me there, and you have to meet me.”

“I’ll try.” Ryouken breathes, because despite the seriousness of the conversation his heart twists at the words. It’s not a promise of what he wants quite yet, but it sounds alot like it, and it gives him hope, “But I’ll slip up.”

“I’ll stop you then, since I know you want me to.” Yusaku opened his eyes again, meeting his own, “So we’re okay?”

“Yeah.” Ryouken breaths the word, “Yeah, we’re okay.”

“Okay.” Yusaku breaths right back. And then, because apparently for the first time he’s done something right, Yusaku gives his rarer than gold smile, so small and slight, but somehow more beautiful than Stardust Road under summer night. “Do you think Spectre is hiding in the kitchen and waiting for this to be over?”

“Oh, absolutely.” Ryouken feels his shoulders relax at last, years of burden lifting from them. “He’s trapped in there.”

“ _Ai_ am the only one trapped!” The Dark Ignis rose, it’s body stretching until it was hugging Yusaku’s cheek, “Yuuuuuuuuuusssssaaaakkkuuuuuuuu, you forgot I was heeeeeeerrrreeee! Forget dumb Revolver, I’ll make you feel better! I’m gonna find the cleaning lady and you won’t have to feel sad about that ever again!”

Ryouken glared at the Dark Ignis, cursing it for ruining the moment.

* * *

**Bonus: From the PMs Of AGentleBreeze**

**AGentleBreeze:** Shima why the fuck are you in jail and why did I only just find this out?!?!?!

**LonelyBrave** : I'm not in jail anymore dipshit! That was a week ago, and it was only for one night, and it wasn't my fault!

**AGentleBreeze** : What did you _do_? I have been so distracted by all my bullshit getting leaked online that I haven't been able to check up on the latest news with your rich self. Mom won't tell me shit. What's going on?

**LonelyBrave** : Oh...

**LonelyBrave** : Well, turns out...

**LonelyBrave** : That shitty guy I'm friends with...

**AGentleBreeze** : The hot asshole you've got a crush on?

**LonelyBrave** : My soulmate is Playmaker!

**LonelyBrave** : ...which...is the hot guy I have a crush on...

**LonelBrave** : Oh god.

**AGentleBreeze** : Oh yeah Playmaker!

**AGentleBreeze** : ...wait...

**AGentleBreeze** : Isn't Playmaker that other guy who's...y'know...like me?

**LonelyBrave** : I'm so embarassed. I gushed about my fantasies right in front of him!

**AGentleBreeze** : Wait! What happened? Explain!

**LonelyBrave** : So it turns out hot guy is Fujiki Yusaku and...

**LonelyBrave** : Yeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh...

**AGentleBreeze** : ...

**AGentleBreeze** : _Holy shit!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit this one was a long one. 
> 
> Anyway, I give you, exclusive to this chapter: A bird flying from her cage, a disaster gay, a jealous A.I. who is high key judging the disaster gay, one tired wisteria boi, a Spectre that just wants to get a waffle please, and more disaster gay who has to explain to his cousin why he spent a night in jail and how he's realizing he gushed to his crush about having a crush on them without realizing. 
> 
> My priorities are great. 
> 
> But, for serious, communication is important kids. And I hope you liked this chapter, because I'm going to be worse next chapter. I attempted to make this one fluff, but turns out it is too soon for Ryouken to be anything but a fucking mess. But not as much of a mess as Shima at least.
> 
> I meant to check in on Takeru this chapter, but Ryouken was like, "No, I need more attention." So now Takeru is going to wait.
> 
> Ryouken this whole chapter: Life sucks, why can't things just not be this?  
> Also Ryouken this whole chapter: I LOVE THESE NEW CHANGES TO MY LIFE AND WOULD LIKE TO KEEP ADDING TO THEM, YUSAKU, LET ME BUY YOU A NEW DUEL DISK (pretty bracelet) RIGHT NOW! ALSO I LOVE THE FURNITURE.  
> Also Also Ryouken: I am the scum of the earth.  
> Also Also Also Ryouken: And in love, dammit, now I just want to marry the hell out of Yusaku and pretend I don't need therapy.
> 
> Yusaku and Spectre and Ai this whole chapter: [Are reasonable human beings happy to have nice furniture and walls that aren't white]


	10. Chapter 10

* * *

**Eleutheromania** : An intense and irresistible desire for freedom

* * *

Bittersweet is the flavor of life.

Kyoko’s brother told her that shortly after their parents died. He was nineteen, she was twelve, and they only had each other. Her parents hadn’t been wealthy, but they had made enough for the two of them to live comfortably for a while. They’d had a buffer that kept them away from poverty while her brother very quickly got a part time job and started trade school.

She hadn’t been too upset when her parents died. They weren’t a particularly close family, and while they were never cruel they were never exactly _present_ either. She’d been raised more by her brother than them, often coming home with only him at the dinner table, the two of them switching between who cooked for the night once she was old enough. If they cooked at all, that is. 

It’s not like her parents were particularly neglectful either. Taki had clothes on her back that fit, all the bills got paid, she was never without food or internet or power. She was able to afford anything she needed or asked for, able to go on every school trip.

And yet, still, her parent’s deaths were not her first taste of despair. 

In truth, Taki had never had a great heartbreak. She wasn’t bullied in school, and she had few friends, all male, but she _did_ have them. She’d never suffered heartbreak because she’d focused on school and never paid attention to dating before she had a career. And she had never been asked to give up her dreams of becoming a scientist for anyone else. In a way, she was spoiled for someone in her position, never once having been asked to make a sacrifice. Not like her older brother, who’d given up his dream of becoming an artist to take up a trade and put her through the bulk of her higher education.

No, she’s had a good life. A stable life, and heartbreak didn’t come to her until after the Hanoi Project.

In a way, she’d never understood what her brother had meant when he said life’s taste was bittersweet. Not until after they’d begun their work for the Hanoi Project and the first child screamed. I had never even occurred to her until that moment that, perhaps, she would come to regret this decision. 

It had made so much sense when they were planning it. Just six children, just for a little while. They wouldn’t even die. And then they would save _billions_ of lives in the future. The math was simple and clear. Six lives would never equal to a billion, couldn’t even _begin_ to add up. And they didn’t even have to die. They would be damaged, perhaps, but what was that compared to billions of lives?

It had all made sense on paper.

But when the screaming started, Taki knew that she had made a mistake.

But by then it was far too late, the children were already here, and the project had already begun. It was too late to turn back, and it was selfish to do so anyway, not when they could help billions of people. That’s what she truly believed, it’s what she still believes, in a way. Or, it’s what she would still believe if the Ignis hadn’t proven to be humanity’s greatest threat rather than it’s salvation.

But that’s not the point.

Her first taste of despair came when she realized she would have to cut her brother and other close friends out of her life in order to protect them. Not everyone would understand the necessity of the Hanoi Project, she’d come to realize. And while she didn’t have many close friends, it was still a bitter realization that she would have to give the few she had up. Being bound to the Hanoi Project meant being bound to the greatest secret humanity would witness for centuries to come, and taking part in it meant skirting those inconvenient laws that would restrict their progress. 

Taki wasn’t aware she was allowed visitors until the guards came to her cell and told her she had one, wrinkling their noses at her in that way they’ve done ever since the lunch period when the SOLtech leaks had broken out and word hadn’t _quite_ reached the prisoners yet, but had _certainly_ reached a few of the guards that spend free time in Vrains. When they had stormed the cafeteria area and grabbed her, escorting her out in a rush without explanation and telling her that she’d be moved to a private cell for her own protection from now on, and she was sat alone in an isolated and lonely room with an uncomfortable bed and bleach-cleaned toilet, grey walls closing in on her as nothing but a small square window gave her any insight to the outside world, the thick titanium door to her new cell latched firmly shut. It only opens once every hour, when a guard comes to check on her, sometimes bringing requested paperback books from the prison library. She hadn’t learned until much, much, later why she’d been brought to such a restrictive and maddeningly isolated place.

It didn’t take long for her to realize just _why_ she’d been locked away. It took only a day, actually, when she was being escorted to her new, more privatized and guarded, use of the active facilities. The guards hadn’t been lying at all when they said it was for her own protection. All the way from the thick metal doors to the visiting rooms, she’d faced leering glares and vulgar names being thrown at her, the sneers of the guards barely contained behind their professionalism as they escorted her. Many inmates threw things at her, shouting things she couldn’t ever dare to repeat.

“Child abusers are especially hated in prisons.” One of the guards had explained when they were setting up a private usage of the library and courtyard, because she couldn’t even be near another prisoner that didn’t have a similar crime behind them, apparently. Because the guards didn’t trust others to not try and hurt her. Apparently they’re that hated in the prisons. Taki had never known that low-lives even had such an honor system.

“Do I really count as a child abuser?” She had asked him diplomatically, folding her hands in front of herself. And all she received in reply was a grimace and a brief, twisted, look of pure disgust as the guard realized she’d really asked that question unironically. 

Taki is now only allowed near other prisoners accused of child abuse now, because they’re the only ones that might not hurt her. And even then a few have tried, depending on if they considered _their_ abuse lesser than hers. It’s disconcerting, knowing that there are women who have hurt children for their own gain that hate her with so much disdain, but somehow they consider their own excuses superior to hers.

It’s disgusting, really. Taki had only ever tried to elevate humanity, and somehow her fellow prisoners think they’re superior to her, enough that they try to hurt her, or speak ill of her. Well, she hardly cares, she’s above such frivolous gossip. So she keeps to herself, as she did before. So she lives the next week of her life in that isolated pattern, hardly caring as she passes the time with literature and occasional sunlight, sometimes watching the news blare the same scandal that involves her over and over and waiting patiently for the day the others come for her. She hardly cares for the opinions of those who didn’t understand the significance of what she and the others had been trying to accomplish with the Hanoi Project. 

It had been such a beautiful dream. She, a relatively new face to the science world, working with the great Dr. Kogami on a project that would one day help _billions_ of people. She’d been so starstruck then. After all, Dr. Kogami had been something of a hero to her for the better part of a decade by then. A chance to work with him and do something so great? Any sacrifice had been worth that. After all, how could the greatest name in the developing machine intelligence and algorithmic sciences be wrong?

But she digresses, she has a visitor now, and it’s the first time since her protected isolation that she’s felt like she’s being treated with any kind of dignity.

The orange jumpsuit she wears is unflattering, and she wishes she had something better. She can’t think of anyone else that would visit her here but Ryouken and one of her colleagues, but with the leaks she doubts either Dr. Aso nor Dr. Gerome would be risking walking into a prison. And she doesn’t know enough about the leaks to know whether Ryouken’s identity as Revolver was compromised. Likely not, she assumes, because SOLtech surely hadn’t been able to find his identity. Still, she can’t imagine him taking such a large risk as to visit her in the prison. If he was worried about her, then he’d have just broken her out, and that would take time and no visitations. 

It’s likely Spectre, she muses. He’s Ryouken’s most trusted lieutenant, bitter as it is to admit. Because unlike the rest of them Spectre isn’t part of the Knights of Hanoi for the sake of humanity, or to clean up their mistakes. The boy simply doesn’t care for the human race as a whole and would, she thinks, have gladly joined the Ignis in their conquest had they happened upon him before Ryouken. Luckily Ryouken did find him first, and in doing so gained a useful and intelligent ally who hinged his mental health onto being useful to him and him alone. Spectre would never betray Ryouken, because doing so would betray the sole purpose he’d decided to give his life. Add on his anonymity, and he was the perfect person to send to check up on her. Though, thinking of it, it was also needlessly risky to send his greatest hidden blade out into the open and in association with her.

Once she realized that last point she paused, genuinely drawing a blank on who else it could be. Surely Ryouken wouldn’t slip up like that, but then who else could it be? Then again, Ryouken _is_ a teenager, despite his intelligence and maturity, it’s possible that in his worry he’d slipped a bit. 

Taki bites her lip as the guards open the doors, motioning her inside for her one on one visit. She nods, stepping into the heavily guarded room, nothing but a single stall with a bolted down chair and a glass barrier between her and her visitor.

She pauses, horror washing over her when she realizes it’s not Spectre nor Ryouken. It should be relieving, but it’s truly, truly, not.

She hasn’t seen her brother since she’d cut him off.

At least, not until now.

“Oh.” She breaths, body tensed and frozen in shock, watching her brother as he sits on the other side of a thick glass wall, hunched over the metal desk like the weight of the very world had descended onto his shoulders and he just didn’t have the strength to sit upright anymore. He’s older than she remembers, tireder and more withered. It makes sense, she hasn’t seen him in just over a decade. But, somehow, she didn’t expect him to look so frayed, with silver playing at his temples and his once fiery red hair fading as it twists into a messy braid. He has crows feet around his eyes, and every part of him looks beaten down.

He’s only seven years older than her, but looking at him now one would be forgiven for mistaking him as her relatively well aged father rather than her worn brother.

His eyes flicker up to her, whiskey colored irises surrounded by bloodshot. He’s exhausted, and seeing her only makes his shoulders slump more, his calloused hand reaching out to pick up the phone that would share their voices in just a moment.

Kotaro used to be so alive, always covered in paint and clay, with chalk on his hands. He wanted to do metal statues, once. Now he can barely recognize him as she sits down and takes the phone into her own hands. She opens her mouth to speak, to ask _why_ he was here, but she doesn’t even have time to utter a syllable before he’s already spoken over her.

“What did I do?” He begs, whiskey eyes bleeding with despair. “Kyoko, what did I do _wrong_?”

She’s taken aback by his tone, by the question. She blinks, lips pursing, “I don’t understand.”

“Was I a bad brother?” The man asks her, hand clenching around the phone in a white knuckled grip. If she listens she can hear the faint strain of the plastic through the receiver, “Did I hurt you? Was I not there enough for you? Were you unhappy? Please, just, tell me what I did to turn you into... _this_.”

Momentarily stunned, she has no words. All she can do is blink, lost, before she realizes that he must have seen whatever was leaked by SOLtech as well. That...is terrible. He doesn’t have the context, he doesn’t know what she’d been trying to _do_ , he doesn’t understand, and the fact she’s in a high security prison probably doesn’t help whatever imagine he’s conjured up in his head. Scrambling, she tries to explain, “Kotaro, let me expla-”

“What? Explain?” Kotaro cuts her off with a hiss. She flinches, eyebrows knitting together. Her brother hasn’t interrupted anything she’d said since they were still children and their parents were still alive, always encouraging them to take turns speaking to get their point across. It hurts, knowing that he was so upset with her that he broke his own rule of communication, and it only hurts worse as he continues to speak, “What is there to explain? You _tortured_ children, Kyoko, there _is_ no explanation for that. I just want to know why you thought that was _okay._ ”

“Listen-” She tried.

“No, you listen.” He demanded. He was very obviously upset, shaking in his seat as his teeth clenched tightly and his eyes watered. “I don’t want your excuses, I want you to tell me what I could have done to stop this.”

“What?” Taki breathed, shaking her head, “Kotaro, you don’t understand. I was trying to save lives.”

“Oh god.” He breathed as well, a disbelieving sound, watered eyes widening. A few tears almost leaked from them, but they clung stubbornly to his eyelashes, “You really believe that, don’t you?”

“You don’t understand, Kotaro.” She let out a relieved sigh, content now that he’s leaving room for her to explain, “Dr. Kogami calculated everything, none of them were ever going to die, and we were going to save _thousands_ , maybe even _billions_ , of lives.”

He blinked at her, chapped lips falling open for a moment. He looked for all intents like she had spoken to him in a forgien language, and he was struggling to comprehend the words that left her lips. After a few moments he let out a long, breathy, sigh. His next words were soft, brimming with emotion, “What happened to you, Kyoko? You used to want to save the world like your hero, Dr. Fudou.”

“I was saving the world!” Taki told him, placing her hand against the glass, willing her brother to believe in her like he always had, to see her point like he’d always been willing to do before. “Don’t believe whatever rumors you’ve been hearing. You know me, you know I only want what’s best.”

“I used to think that.” He spoke, voice cracking, “But, Kyoko, they were _children_. You hurt small, helpless, _children_ beyond repair. My sister, the sister I knew, would have _never_ done that.”

“I’m still that sister.” She pleaded with him, begging him to keep true to the brother she’s always known and see reason. “Kotaro, you know everything I do is for the good of the world.”

But he only shook his head, lips quivering as his hand finally unclenched and he stood, voice taking on a sharp edge that she’d never heard pointed towards her before, “No, you’re not my sister. My sister _died_ ten years ago when he heard someone was going to hurt children and didn’t go to the police. You’re not her. I was right, you're not her, you’re just the _thing_ wearing her _corpse_.” 

And then his eyes flashed with such hatred, resentment, and venom that she could _feel_ it burning into her veins. It’s a cold, shocking feeling, because he’s never _once_ looked at her like that, not even during the worst of their arguments. And they’d fought before, a lot less after her parents died, but a lot. But this? This was different. This was hateful, final. It felt like a fine string on a violin snapping, leaving the instrument broken and the tune forever muted. He meant those words, really meant them. This wasn’t a moment of heated anger, this wasn’t resentment for their situation bleeding through his words, something he would feel guilty about later and try to make up to her with her favorite sweets. No, this was his real, honest, choice. 

Of all the people in all the world, Taki Kyoko never once thought her brother would be the one to abandon her, not after everything they’ve been through together, not after he’d given up his life and dreams in order to raise her.

“Ko-” But she isn’t even able to finish saying his name, because he slammed the phone connecting their voices as hard as he could, nearly breaking it with the strength of his engineering hands. She flinches as the loud cracking snaps in her ears. And it’s funny, in a terrible way, the details you remember during the worst moments of your life. She’s had a few worst moments; the fall of the Hanoi Project, the moment she’d realized the police were coming for them, the moment she realized Ryouken had been the one to sell them out, the moment Ryouken had become active leader of the Knights of Hanoi, the moment the Dark Ignis escaped them, the moment they realized Playmaker was too strong for them and the backup plan to destroy the Ignis would need to become their solution. There’s always a moment where the world slows to a near freeze and her heartbeat sounds like a slow and steady drum in her ear. 

For this moment she remembers the electrical scars on his hands, evidence of years as an electrical engineer printed on his skin. He used to have such beautiful hands, always taken care of because artists need pretty hands. Those hands used to pat her head, and read her science books before bed because those were her favorite. They put bandages on her knee, and hugged her during all her graduations. Now they’re marred, ugly from years of unwanted sacrifice. And his hair whips his face, some of the loose bits slapping around his wet eyes. There’s a bandage on the back of his neck, pink and with a horse on it, and it’s all she sees besides guards scolding him as he storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

And then she’s alone, phone hanging from her ear, with no one but the unpitying guard watching her.

* * *

City life was totally different from small town life.

While their hometown belonged within the general area of Den City’s City State, there was never really any doubt that their little collections of farms and houses and a few markets were _part_ of the city. They just fell under their legal jurisdiction and paid their taxes to them. There was never a mistake in thinking they _lived_ a city life though. 

Being in the city itself was way different than anything Takeru ever experienced, and even after a week of wandering the streets he wasn’t quite used to it yet. It was just so _busy_ compared to his hometown, and there was a shop for _everything._ And it felt like nothing was ever closed. There was always something to do, or some event going on, or some noise playing in the background.

Kiku liked it, a lot. Though she wanted to sleep somewhere quieter then their hotel, which was right on a street with lots of food stalls and yelling people living the nightlife. 

“I can change locations for us if you want.” Flame mused, crossing his arms and leaning his tiny back against Takeru’s wrist. The silver and red haired boy shivered at the feel of that strange texture that made up his body against his skin. He’s not sure _what_ Flame is made out of, but it’s not human flesh, and it’s always warm to the touch, like a heating pad. He’s had a week to get used to it, especially with how touchy the little guy is, but he just _can’t_ . He’s not touched-starved or anything, he’s more than used to getting hugs from his grandparents and Kiku. But Flame’s body is _weird_ and rubbery and somehow smooth and soft at the same time. 

Which is weird, because while he doesn’t know much computer stuff, he’s seen enough movies with Kiku to know that A.I. are normally computer stuff that you can’t touch, like air or something, but Flame had a body. Didn’t that make him more a robot than anything? Takeru doesn’t know, and it kinda hurts his head to think about. And that was before his new buddy tried to explain that _Takeru_ had somehow had a hand in making him and that’s what made him sentient, which Kiku said meant that Flame was a person with feelings and thoughts.

All Takeru took from any of that was that the Knight of Hanoi fuckers tortured him and a bunch of other kids to make Flame and the others like him. It was hard to swallow, and it made bonding with him a little hard. It wasn’t Flame’s fault, he knows that, but still…

But Flame was so insistent and patient and helpful that it was hard to resent him. Especially since he was the one paying for their hotel and helping them navigate the city.

“Oh, no.” Kiku twisted her hands, her eyes flickering away from the window. It was daylight outside right now, so it wasn’t as busy right now. This street only ever seemed to be alive at nighttime, which was the opposite of what two small town folk like them were used to. But even still, Kiku always seemed to keep an eye out on the window anyway, paranoid that the media was going to track them any moment. Her fingers twisted in a cheap curtain, her pink shirt and denim jeans, both bought from a cutie boutique in the city, made the cheap everything surrounding them look...well...cheap. “You’ve already done a lot for us, Mr. Flame, we couldn’t possibly…”

“You’re stuck with me. Forever.” Flame pointed out bluntly, “And I don’t want to live _here_. I think it’s more than past time we figure out what you two want to do with the rest of your lives.”

Takeru and Kiku both froze at that. An uncomfortable feeling built up in the silver haired boys throat, his violet eyes settled on his new...partner?...Flame said they were partners anyway, that he was naturally drawn to Takeru and didn’t have any inclinations to leave him if possible. And Takeru wouldn’t lie if he didn’t say just having Flame around made him feel _better_. More comfortable. Like his skin itched less and fit better, or like a piece of him he hadn’t known he was missing had finally come back. 

But Flame pointed out things he sometimes didn’t want to hear, because however prideful and arrogant he was, he was also honest and straightforward. It made them both have to face some uncomfortable conversations. Like now. “Live here?”

“I dearly hope that wasn’t your plan.” Flame tells them both, looking up at him with his tiny golden eyes. “Because, no offense Takeru, but this is _hardly_ a fitting lair for a hero. Not sustainable at all. Long term living would be _expensive_ too, and while I make good money with the anonymous hacking work, I think there are cheaper and better options.”

“ _Of course_ we’re not going to live here!” Kiku panicked, turning away from the window with wide eyes, her braids slapping her face as she turned. “This is temporary! We were never going to live here!”

“What was your plan, then?” Flame asks casually, turning his face towards Kiku. “I know you didn’t have one on the train other than escaping the media, but what was the long term goal? Where are you going to live now?”

“We’re going to go back home when the media dies down!” Kiku shakes her head, eyes still wide on Flame, “We weren’t planning on _moving_ here!”

Now it was Flame’s turn to make a surprised noise, then a concerned one as he straightens himself up, “Are you sure that’s wise?”

That same uncomfortable feeling prickled at Takeru’s insides while Kiku’s hands landed on her hips and she scolded at Flame, “What do you mean? Of course it is! We live there. Where else would we go?”

“I’m just concerned about the long term consequences of this decision.” Flame hummed, pointing one of his fingers at himself. “I’m an obvious issue, but beyond that Takeru’s life has been completely exposed. People he’s known all his life now know every painful detail of his life right down to the dosage of medications he should be taking and what physical and mental disorders he has. Beyond just the gossip that would spread, his address is also plastered online. Even when the media dies down SOLtech and enemies of SOLtech and people who want to exploit but himself and I will be tracking him. The rest of his life will be defined by his status as a subject of the Hanoi Project and people _will_ harass him. I had just thought that you two planned to settle somewhere with more security to prevent this.”

Takeru’s blood turned to ice. Kiku just stood there, mouth opening and closing over and over, like the koi fish in his parent’s pond. Fish he might not ever see again, he realizes suddenly, with a bit of panic. “So...what? We can’t go home again?!”

“I mean, you can…” Flame looked back up to him, “...Kiku most certainly can. But it would be dangerous for _you_ to go. Even if SOLtech is falling apart, there’s plenty of other corrupt corporate organizations that might try something. KaibaCorp, Abstergo, Aperture Science, Goha Corp. And even without them there’s the threat of media harassment, and non media harassment. You might not be able to leave your house even if you go back. And you’d need to update your security...and get some gates...and…”

Flame trailed off, ticking his fingers up and down and he thought of everything he thought Takeru would need to protect himself from the dangers Takeru didn’t even know he would face from now on. Kiku’s face paled more and more with every single finger that ticked up and down, face twisting with more and more worry with the growing number of protections they’d need to make just to _live._

Finally, Flame just stopped, dropping his hand down in his default crossed arm position and declaring, “You know what? You’re just going to need a new house altogether. I’ll pay to have one built if you insist on your home town.”

“A _new house_?” Takeru jumped at the thought, “But I like my grandparents house!”

“It’s not _secure_ , much less safe.” Flame told him, “I’ve already blocked over three hundred attempts to track you just in _this hotel room today_. I won’t be able to do anything to protect you in their house. They have no security, or gates, or internet.”

Everything felt cold, suddenly.

“Thr-Three hundred?” Kiku’s face was so pale it looked like she’d never had blood in it at all. Her shaky hands reached up to cover her mouth, eyes still blown wide, “Just _today?_ ”

“I didn’t want to mention it, because I didn’t want you to panic, but seeing as we need to make plans for protecting ourselves…” Flame shrugged, turning to her, “I know it’s not what you want to hear, but Takeru _is_ in danger and will now be so for the rest of his life. Whatever we decide to do, we need to assume it’s going to be forever and with people tracking us.”

Kiku sucked in a sharp breath, and Takeru felt like his whole world just got shaken. Shatter. Whatever. The point is his whole world is turned upside down and he really, really, doesn’t like it. At all. One of his biggest fears, besides ghosts and other creepy stuff like that, was that those bastards would come back for him someday. And while he’s confident in his martial arts skills, and he’s a lot stronger than he was, the idea that people absolutely _would_ swarm him doesn’t sit well in his stomach.

Would they hurt his grandparents to get to him? Probably. His parents died just looking for him. He doesn’t want to think…

“I can’t go back…” Takeru breathed, the horrible realization washing over him. He’d never see the wooden walls where his growth was marked in the door frame again. Not living there, at least. Not as a resident. He could visit, but living there put his grandparents in _danger_. And while his grandfather was a master of martial arts, he wasn’t in his prime anymore. He couldn’t defend himself and grandma if a team were sent after him. No, Flame was right. Takeru’s best bet was to leave and go somewhere safer.

But where?

“Takeru! Of course you can go back! We’ll...we’ll find a way.” Kiku twisted her hands together, but even she didn’t seem to believe her words, looking uncertainly at Flame. “Right?”

“I mean...we could make it work, but the whole house would need a overhaul.” Flame shrugged, “Security systems, fences...how would your neighbors feel about alarms?”

They would hate it, Takeru already knew that. They used to complain if he would play in the backyard too loud, much less if an alarm went off. And it would be hard to install the stuff they’d need in their house. And it would take too much time, time that they could get him, hurt his grandma, shove him in a _room_ …

“No…” Takeru swallowed a thick lump forming in his throat. “I...I wasn’t going to live with them forever anyways...so...what’s a year or two early? I’ve been needing to figure out what I wanted to do in the future anyway.”

Kiku’s face twisted in worry again, “Are you sure…? I mean, it’s your whole life. Your family.”

“It’s not what I would have picked a week ago.” Takeru states a little bitterly, clenching his fists at his side, “But, then again, a week ago the whole _world_ didn’t have videos of me getting electrocuted as a kid.”

It’s hard to swallow, but Flame is right. He can’t just mooch off his grandparents forever, and he needs to decide what he wants to do with his future now. Everything has changed, and he can’t just go back to the way things were before. Whether he likes it or not, this is his reality now, and he has to do what he can to make sure that Kiku and his grandparents aren’t dragged into this.

“Then where are we supposed to go?” Kiku asked uncertainty, eyebrows knitting together. “Our plan was to get you away. We never...what are we going to _do_?”

“I don’t know.” Takeru grit his teeth, “You can go home, eventually. But me…I just gotta find a new place to live.”

“But _where_?” Kiku threw up her hands, balling them up into fists, “And how? Takeru, you don’t have a job! How is this going to work? Are you going to go to school? What are you going to _do_?”

Takeru froze, because he didn’t have an answer for that. He didn’t even have an answer for that a week ago, or a year ago. Time had stopped for him ten years ago, and in a way he had never thought the future would _come_ because nothing was moving and he was trapped. 

But now time is moving again, too fast, too suddenly. And suddenly he’s ten years in the future and too many opportunities gone by and he has to decide who he is and what he wants to do _right now_ at sixteen and he doesn’t _know_.

“Luckily,” Flame speaks, breaking him from the sudden flow of time, bringing him back to the world right here and now in this room. “I _do_ have a job. A well paying job. So I can help Takeru with whatever he wants to do.”

The silver haired boy let out a long breath, more relieved than he should be. That’s right, whatever happens he won’t be alone. And Flame has money, and he wants to help him. They’d be fine. It was all going to be fine. Together he and Flame could figure it out.

“Okay...okay…” Kiku breathed, still not looking sure, but a bit calmer now, “But...that still doesn’t give us a solid plan...Like...where do we go? Where can he live? Do you even know a place he can stay? Where can we find a house with everything you need?”

“Well…” Flame tapped a finger to his chin, humming as he thought about the possibilities. “That depends on what you decide to do. Oh course, we don’t have to make long term plans _now_ , but we should at least move to a more guarded location while you take however long you need to make plans.”

“Okay, but what’s more secure than this?” Takeru asks, relieved that he doesn’t have to make plans for his entire future _right now_. “A nicer hotel? Or are you going to go ahead and find a house?”

“Hmmm.” Flame rubbed his chin, “Let’s not do anything permanent until we’ve made a decision. But a nicer hotel...won’t be too different from one like this. Probably should do something different.”

“That doesn’t really narrow it down.” Kiku huffed, hands on her hips again, “What about the other kids? Do we know what they’re doing?”

That thought hadn’t even occurred to Takeru. Okay, wait, yeah it did. But it was passing worry and not something he actually thought to ask about. Sure, he watched the news and learned a _lot_ about the other kids, but he didn’t really think too much about what they were doing to hide other than holding up in their houses. But, with what Flame just threw at him, it was probably a good thing to ask about. They probably all made plans and such by now.

Especially Fujiki Yusaku, Playmaker, the one that fought back. Takeru bets he made a plan by now. He probably has an actual secret hideout he’s hiding in right now. Some kind of safe house somewhere. Because he’s an actual, real life, superhero.

“Well…” Flame trails off again, thinking as he rubs his chin. “According to the Ignis of Earth, the Light Ignis says his origin is still in his mental health facility room and perfectly safe for the moment. The Wind Ignis’ origin is also held up in his home with his family, but he’s making arrangements to move in with his wealthier aunt in the downtown area where they have a gated community.”

“We can’t do either of those.” Takeru grimaces, scratching the side of his neck and wrinkling his nose. “I don’t have rich relatives, and I don’t really think I’d do well living in a hospital…”

“Luckily, there are more options.” Flame waves off, “Hmm, The Earth Ignis hasn’t talked to his origin, and the Water Ignis says hers has taken to tracking down a personal friend in hopes she’d help her.” 

“That’s…” Kiku trailed off, also grimacing. “What about the last one? Mr. Playmaker?”

“Oh, the Dark Ignis’ origin?” Flame paused now, grimacing, “Well, I suppose that the Ignis of Darkness would insist I call him “Ai” now, since that’s the name his origin gave him. He’s been very pushy about it.”

“Yeah! What’s Playmaker doing?” Takeru leaps at the opportunity, “He’s, like, a superhero, right? He probably has a backup plan. Maybe he’ll help us.”

Flame hummed again, crossing his arms and nodding, “I suppose that’s a good idea. It’s normal for heroes to go to more experienced heroes for guidance, like Miles Morales sought Peter Parker. Every hero needs a mentor, after all. And Playmaker would be a good mentor in this case.”

Flame had a habit of doing that, comparing everything to comics and heroes. In the week since Takeru has known him his small partner seemed to be narrating and writing Takeru’s tragic origin story in his own head. Kiku liked it, thought it was really quirky and charming. The little guy had been so smug when she told him that Takeru almost wanted to shove a pillow over his face.

“Forget that! What’s he doing?” Kiku tapped her foot impatiently, the anxiety eating at her. She probably wanted out of this room as fast as possible after hearing how many attempts to find them Flame blocked. To be honest, Takeru was in the same boat.

“Hmmm, seems Ai _does_ have him in a secure location.” Flame sounded mildly impressed by this, “Oh! Yes, this security is _very_ secure! And there’s no neighbors and a fence! How did _he_ get such a good place for his origin?”

“Mr Playmaker is somewhere safe?” Kiku clenched her fist, eyes brightening, “Do you think he’ll let us say with him if we track him down?”

“I don’t see why not.” Flame flicked his hand dismissively, “Ai kept going on and on about how good his origin was, and how much he actually cares despite pretending he’s an ice queen. If any of that is true then he should be more than happy to take us in.”

“Can you find him?” Takeru asked, biting his lip to keep back the excitement building in his body. He flexed his fingers just to have something to do, some way to get the energy out without shaking like a kid in a candy store. He moves when he’s excited, a habit his grandma could never get him to shake, not even during the worst of the bad days when his whole body just can’t feel anything but achings. He’s a guy that’s gotta move, especially in moments like this.

“I should be able to track them.” Flame nodded confidently, “Hmmm, he’s not too far from here. It shouldn’t take us long to reach him.”

“Are you sure he’ll help us?” Kiku asked, just to be sure. “I mean, I want to think he’s nice, but are you _sure_ he’ll let us stay with him for a little bit?”

“Ai was pretty insistent about how soft his origin is.” Flame soothed her worries, tilting his head as he spoke. “So unless he was lying to me then it should be fine. Besides, if it doesn’t work out then I have ideas for what to do for the new house when we build one.”

Takeru barely registered what he said, too excited to meet Playmaker. He’s been wanting to meet the guy since he heard what he’d done against the Knights of Hanoi…

Was it wrong to suddenly be so excited? He doesn’t think so. After learning that his whole life has been uprooted, he thinks he deserves to feel good about something. So he jumped up, heading for the door, body slightly vibrating with anticipation, “Then let’s go! I’m tired of this dingy hotel anyway!”

“Takeru! Don’t rush out!” Kiku chased after him, her braids swinging behind her, “We don’t know where we’re going!”

“It looks like he’s by the beach.” Flame commented, “How lovely. A beachside manor sounds like a perfect lair for a lively hero like you Takeru.”

The beach? Sounds nice! He can’t remember the last time he’d been to the beach.

* * *

In the week he’s spent in Queen’s childhood home, Pawn has experienced more paralyzing fear and anxiety than could be thought possible.

Every moment felt like a chess game to him, first Queen made her move, then her father made his, and Pawn is jerked around these two players as they tried to make their moves and outsmart each other. Because Queen is trying to hide what is happening to her company from her father, who clearly knows nothing but is clever enough and knows his daughter enough to realize something is wrong.

Pawn wishes Mr. Bellefeuille wasn’t so clever, because then maybe Queen would stop watching him like a hawk. 

She never lets him be alone now. He’s always by her side, day and night, evening and morning, through everything. They even share a room, where he sleeps on a cot Mr. Bellefeuille made for him. He’s not even allowed to shower alone, most days, because Queen doesn’t allow him to be alone. And every hour that passes by under Queen’s sharp gaze, Pawn trembles as he wonders how close she is to deciding he was too much of a nuisance to continuing keeping and sending him off to be assassinated.

Probably soon.

He doesn’t even know why she brought him with her in the first place. She’s not using him as a servant, which is what he’d assumed when she dragged him here. Whatever her purpose, it must be sinister. There’s no other reason she would have brought him. Even with her father’s language barrier at play Pawn is simply too much of a risk to outing her. She _must_ need him for something essential. 

But whatever it is might not be worth it now that her uncle is also a player in the game.

Pawn wishes, very dearly, that Adrian Bellefeuille would go away, because he’s made the situation far, far, worse. Right from the moment he walked in the door.

As it would turn out, Florian and Adrian Bellefeuille are twins. Identical twins. Everything from their long blue hair to their body shape is shared, and they’re unnervingly in sync in a way Pawn had thought only existed in movies for twins. 

If they stopped for long enough, you could tell them apart well enough. Adrian is the sterner brother, with more hardened edges and expressions. Smiles don’t come to him as easy, and he’s not as unapologetically joyful. He has more silver in his hair than his brother, who is burdened with laugh lines. But they never stand still for long, always dancing around each other, always switching places, pretending to be one another. Pawn could never be sure which one was trying to talk to him, only to be interrupted by Queen’s comments.

It was starting to mess with Pawn’s head, and his perception of reality. Rarely did he catch the brothers together, both of them sulking about, trying to draw Queen’s attention away. But she was steadfast, remaining by Pawn’s side, though he couldn’t tell you what excuses she uses to justify this.

Pawn wishes she would just kill him already.

His nightmares are starting to be filled with the sound of Florian and Adrian’s whispering, with the flash of their matching silver bracelets. Somehow, they scare him more than Queen, because he doesn’t know what they want. Queen is going to kill him, her father and uncle? Well, he’s starting to doubt they’re not where she gets her ruthlessness from.

Or maybe he’s been helpless too long. Maybe he’s mistaking a kind and quirky old man and his somewhat stern twin brother for monsters when they simply aren’t. 

It doesn’t matter either way, because with every day that ticks by, Pawn grows closer to his own death. He can feel it. Queen brought him here for a reason, after all, and it couldn’t be anything other than to benefit herself. Mr. Bellefeuille and his brother are delaying the inevitable. If that’s what they’re doing at all. Pawn doesn’t know anymore. All he knows is he desperately wants out of this madhouse.

He’s even considering making a run for it, somehow, because at this point even being on the streets of a foreign country he doesn’t know the language of has to be better than this. 

Pawn shivers as he adjusts in his seat, the plush couch beneath him shifting. Queen is on an adjacent chair, speaking with her...father? Uncle? He can’t tell and he isn’t sure he wants to know. On the tv in front of him a duel monsters tournament is going on, some sort of action duel championship. He hasn’t seen many of those, living in a city where virtual dueling was far more popular. Den City held all their official tournaments in Vrains. Pawn spared a thought as to whether or not Vrains would even still be existing soon, with SOLtech falling apart. He doesn’t know, the City-State they’re in doesn’t cover the scandals of those a world away. If news of what happens to SOLtech spreads here at all, it will be more delayed than a week. 

Whatever the case, the other brother was paying close attention to the tournament. The three of them spoke French to one another casually, and Pawn desperately wished he knew even a single word of the language. But the best he had was fairly fluent English and that was it. And he hadn’t been brave enough to try and test the waters to see if either of the men spoke it at all. 

What was Queen doing? Bringing him here, letting him sit casually on her couch while she locks him helplessly out of the loop with her family. What does she want with him? Doesn’t she realize what a danger he is? He knows too much! He knows her name, and her sordid history, and her _face_. He’s too dangerous to be left around her family! She should have killed him by now! So what was she doing?

Florian let out a joyful laugh at something his daughter said, and Pawn felt that strange twist between fear and pity once again. Ah, she’d been speaking to her father after all. Unless it’s Adrian pretending to be his brother again. He’s going to assume it’s Florian for now, because the laughter sounded too nice and genuine for him to want to believe anything else.

“Tout pour toi, ma princesse.” Florian pinched Queen’s cheek and left the room.

Pawn shivered at the casual affection, knowing that if it had been anyone else in the world, probably including her uncle, that hand he pinched her cheek with would no longer be there. 

With Florian gone from the room, Adrian turned his attention from the screen, his eyes landing on Queen with a sudden, sharp, intensity. He raised his hand, the silver bracelet catching the light as he spoke to his niece in a low and even tone, “Emmenez votre père faire du shopping un jour bientôt.”

Queen nodded, humming constantly. 

The hair prickled on the back of Pawn’s neck as the man looked at him for a moment, the bracelet’s light shining into his eyes before the other turned back to the television like the younger man’s existence didn’t even register to him.

For the first time since he cast off his name, Pawn prayed.

Lord Osiris, herald of the dead, god of life, death, and resurrection, please protect this wayward child. 

* * *

The restaurant is a lot nicer than Miyu had been ready for when she and Aqua found it. In hindsight she should have expected it to be so nice, she _is_ trying to make contact with a break off organization from a company that had a _lot_ of money. 

Still, she could only stand frozen, mouth agape, when she came upon the building. Looking at such an extravagant restaurant she couldn’t help but feel a little...under dressed was probably the kindest word to use. “Are you sure this is the place?”

“According to the emails I traced, yes.” Aqua answered from within the old duel disk. Miyu wishes, suddenly, that she had one of the newer, sleeker, bracelet looking models. It would fit in better in a place like this, with their elegant ladies and their evening dresses. Her blue eyes nervously trail over one of the pretty ladies being let in the door, only to see her neck supporting a _kunzite_ necklace. That’s...expensive.

Miyu looked down at her blue sundress, plain and pastel and not decorated at all. Her sunhat had a ribbon, and she supposes her sunglasses are nice, but right now the fanciest thing she wore were her rhinestone sandals. “I don’t think they’ll let me in like this, Aqua.”

“They will.” Aqua assured her gently, “We have a reservation, in any case.”

The auburn haired girl bit her lip, shifting her gaze to her reflection in the window. She supposes she could pass off as cute, in a plain sort of way. But compared to the elegant and graceful ladies walking into the restaurant she felt like a background character, one of the ones there just to fill the space while more interesting people go about their lives. The only thing that stood out about her were the scars that spun over her skin like twisted thorns, noticeable to anyone that even so much as looked at her. 

She reached up, tugging at a lock of reddish brown hair then brushing her fingers through her bangs. She never liked her bangs. “They also have a dress code.”

“They do not.” Aqua promised her, voice soothing, “The usual clientele are simply...prone to dressing extravagantly.”

That really didn’t make her feel better. In fact, it only made her feel worse. At least if the restaurant had a dress code then all the ladies were dressing up because they had to, not because they were naturally beautiful people with good tastes and shiny jewelry. Even their haircuts were nice. And here she was, little Miyu, little plain Miyu with the haircut her mother picked out for her and her nicest dress being casual wear. She's never even worn jewelry after she'd lost her mother's ring. Mother simply never trusted her with anything more than hair clips.

Maybe she should put her hair up in pigtails again. She wore them everyday to remind her lost childhood friend when she was younger, right up until the day her mother told her she couldn’t anymore because it was time to grow up and wear more mature and business haircuts. Which was funny, because she didn’t even have a job, and she’s not sure when her mother planned to let her out of the house to have one.

If she ever planned to let her out. 

Feeling a pang of bitterness, Miyu hastily fixed her hair into pigtails, just like she had when she was younger. It wasn’t a perfect look, and she really would like to trim her bangs to look a little less...perfect, but the pigtails made her feel a little less like a background character in her own story. “Okay, I’m ready.”

“Then go inside.” Aqua advised gently, “I will keep watch for our hopeful benefactor.”

Miyu nodded, walking up to the door hesitantly. The host gave her a critical once over, clearly doubting she had the right restaurant. She couldn’t even blame him, really. She didn’t feel like she belonged here either, with her cheap clothes and her plain hair and ugly scars. But her name was on the list...or, well, her fake name. Because she couldn’t use her real name in public anymore, not when everyone knew about her.

She was led inside the building by the reluctant host, and the building only seemed more grand the further she was led in. There were chandeliers, and fancy vases, and people playing harps and violins on a stage. Every table has crystal wine glasses, and a vase full of fresh flowers over a silken table cover. Miyu was sat at a table near the back wall under a painting of a woman in a terribly detailed kimono. The host pulled out the chair for her and set down a menu before taking the wine glasses and rushing off.

Miyu didn’t even _want_ to look at the menu, too afraid of seeing the prices for even the cheapest meal. Instead she looked around the room, swallowing thickly as she tried to find the man she was looking for. “Do you see him anywhere?”

“Yes.” Aqua’s quiet voice answered. “Look, over to your left, the table by the corner.”

Blue eyes flickered exactly where the Ignis directed, landing on the table in question. Sitting there was her target, Zaizen Akira, the former head of SOLtech security that broke off when the leaks broke out, now rallying former workers in a giant lawsuit against their former workplace. If anyone could help her, it was him.

The man was with two women, from the look of it. One sitting beside him and one across the table from him. The one beside him was one of the beautiful and elegant ladies Miyu envied, with long magenta hair failing down her back, bangs just as long and silvery. She had matching lipstick on her wide smile, and matching eyes lined with winged eyeliner. Her dress was a beautiful evening gown picked to match Mr. Zaizen’s suit. She was so beautiful that Miyu almost felt teary just looking at her. 

The woman across from them, however, was also incredibly beautiful, but she wasn’t elegant and seemed to fit in less than Miyu did. A deeply tanned woman with long curls of silver hair falling down her back, a candy apple red dress strapped tightly around her breast that showed off her muscled shoulders, some sort of forgien looking tattoos littering her upper arms and back. Though that was less surprising than the golden prison mark on her right cheek beneath a crystalline eye.

“Oh.” Miyu blinked, surprised. Who was she? And why was she allowed in a place like this? Most criminals would be turned away at the door reservation or not.

“Go talk to him.” Aqua encouraged, “Now is your best chance.”

“But…” Miyu trailed off, her eyes still locked on the woman’s face, unable to look away from the golden criminal record etched upon her face. “...who is he with.”

“That is Ms. Kaʻuhane.” Aqua answered her calmly, “She is no harm to us, simply another of Dr. Kogami’s long, long, list of unintended victims on his path to create the Ignis.”

And with those few simple words Miyu’s fear was replaced by guilt. She shouldn’t have been so quick to judge. She doesn’t know the woman’s story, or what she went through. For all Miyu knows...well...she’ll learn better than to judge so quickly, she supposes. 

And now pity replaces guilt, because whether or not this woman suffered the same pains as Miyu herself and the other victims, no one deserved to be a victim of Dr. Kogami. As far as Miyu was concerned any amount of pain, no matter how mild, brought upon by that man was far, far, too much and ultimately deserving of pity.

With her anxiety lessened, Miyu swallowed thickly, trying to build the courage to go up and speak with them. But her limbs suddenly felt too heavy to move, and her legs ached with phantom pains. She took a shuddering breath, trying to calm herself.

“You can do it, Miyu.” Aqua encouraged her softly, “Remember, you’ve already made it through the worst days of your life.”

Aqua’s gentle words filled her with a bit more courage, not only because her words were true, but because they remind her that she has someone by her side that believes in her, that thinks she’s strong. Strong enough to make it through her darkest days, and strong enough that, whatever comes next, she’ll survive because she’s already made it through the worst life could throw at her.

Aqua believed in her, she owed it to her partner to believe in the strength she’s already shown. 

With a final, calming, breath she stands, fixing her hair one last time as she leaves her table and makes her way across the room, coming up to the table at the tail end of a conversation.

“-ose are my terms.” Ms. Kaʻuhane finished, twirling a fork in her and lazily. “I’ve got all the tea on her, I’ve got her real name, I’ve even got evidence. And I’m angry enough to spill everything, but I deserve to have my record cleared.”

“I thank you for your cooperation, Ms. Kaʻuhane.” Zaizen spoke, folding his hands over the table. He looked just like his pictures online, but up close like this there seemed to be something familiar about him, something she hadn’t picked up online. “With everything leaked to the public it should be very easy to clear your record, we just need lawyers to push the paperwork through.”

“And the chip?” The silver haired woman asked.

“I’ll have it repealed and deactivated.” Akira nodded, turning to the woman by his side, “My associate here can more than help with that.”

“Don’t worry darling.” The woman purred, winking at Ms. Kaʻuhane. “We’ll get everything straight. You just get yourself ready for court. And interviews. Lots of interviews.”

“In that case, it’s going to be a pleasure working with you.” Ms. Kaʻuhane leaned forward, elbows on the table, picking up a wine glass and raising it, “To fucking over my shitty ex, his terrible coworkers, and your boss.”

That seemed as good a place to injected herself into the conversation as any other, so she walked forward, swallowing one last lump in her throat before speaking, “Excuse me, Mr. Zaizen?”

All three of the heads whipped around, the adults gathered around the table all looking towards her at once. It made Miyu feel a little scrutinized and nervous, but the reassuring weight of her duel disk on her arm, the knowledge that Aqua was there, comforted her. She seized up, calling on her courage, and spoke, “I’m Sugisaki Miyu, you may recognize me.”

* * *

**Bonus: The Most Awkward Situation That Must Be Addressed (Or, A Situation That Most Certainly Happened In This Story But BBell Can’t Bring Themselves To Address Outside A Bonus)**

There were many heartbreaks and challenges in his young life, from the traumatic memory of watching his father carry his first friend away from their home whilst the other slept, to the man’s imprisonment, to his loss. In that time he’s prepared himself for any sort of hardships, no matter how complicated, terrible, or emotional. There was no other way a boy of thirteen could form and lead the largest and most feared cyber terrorist organization of all time, after all. He’s amazed the skills and mental fortitude to handle every and any task between himself and victory that he could ever face.

Or so he thought.

Right up until he stood in front of the aisle of the store that sold femine products and realized that not only was he not as alone as he had hoped he would be, but he was earning a stare or two. 

It was fine, this was fine, he didn’t mind a stare or two. If the judgments of strangers bothered him then he would have never made it as the leader of the Knights of Hanoi. What did bother him, however, was the fact that prepubescent girls knew far, far, far more about what they were doing than he did right now. And that’s fine, they should, this is something that directly affects them so of course they know. But Ryouken never liked feeling like an uninformed fool.

“Just _go_ already.” The Dark Ignis snapped from around his wrist, because that’s just how low he’s sunken. Kusanagi, the bastard, had shoved them together and out the door as soon as the issue of Yusaku’s unwanted monthly biological reproductive cycle was brought up, claiming that they could very well take care of that issue themselves because _he_ wasn’t dealing with it. “I know what Yusaku normally buys, so don’t worry about it.”

Reluctantly, Ryouken entered the aisle, once again lamenting the fact he was even here in the first place. But someone had to do this, and the Dark Ignis had been frustratingly unhelpful when they tried to look online for what Yusaku usually buys for his situation. So here they were, at a specific store looking for a specific brand among dozens of pink and blue boxes.

“There it is!” The Dark Ignis pointed at white bag shoved into a corner, far less decorated than the others, and far cheaper by the looks of it. “That’s the one he gets! Grab it and go!” 

From across the aisle, one of the young teens threw him a look before leaving the aisle.

Ryouken ignored them, settling his crystalline blue eyes on the box of period pad. Well...actually, it wasn’t a box. It was a plastic bag, and it looked a little too...cheap...compared to everything else. And he supposes that’s fitting since, going by the surrounding price tags, they’re the cheapest in the store. They don’t even seem to be name brand.

Skeptically, he picks up the bag, turning it over in his hands to look at the warning label, no convinced these were good for Yusaku, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, that’s what he always gets.” The Ignis told him with a nod, half hanging out of Ryouken’s duel disk, golden eyes trained over the package. “It’s not fancy, but Yusaku never gets interesting stuff. He’s too broke.”

Wrinkling his nose, Ryouken turned back to the warning label reading the ingredients that went into making the disposable pads. But the more he read the more alarmed he became, because half the things that went into making them were not, medically speaking, good for...yeah…

“We are _not_ getting him these.” Ryouken shoved them back on the shelf.

“Why? What’s wrong with them?” The A.I. looked up, tilting his head and waving his hand dismissively, “They don’t even have artificial smells like those ones over there.” 

“They’ve got synthetic chemicals.” Ryouken wrinkled his nose. Then, just for good measure, he grabbed the box again and shoved it into the A.I.’s face, “ _Read the damn ingredients list._ ”

The Ignis did so, golden orbs rolling over them before he let out a quiet, “...oh.”

Ryouken shoved them right back on the shelf, ran his fingers through his hair, felt more stress in the next five seconds than he thinks he’s ever felt, then let out a long breath as his shoulders untense. “...alright, let's look up the best and safest pads to buy, wipe our search history, and pretend we didn't spend this much time researching period products.”

“ _Agreed_ .” The Ignis made a cringing noise, flinching as it sank down into the duel disk for a bit. Then, only moments later, the Dark Ignis made a frustrated noise as he rose from the disk and over dramatically threw his hand back against his forehead, “ _They all suck_! They all suck! This is worse than The Bold And The Digital’s Final!”

...this is the creature that’s caused him five years of frustration and endless work nights of no sleep, Ryouken had to remind himself. A truly sad reflection of his life. “What?”

“All of them suck!” The A.I. waves out its arm, waving them around is huge circles, letting out distressed noises before speaking again, “None of these are good! Turns out disposable pads are awful! A scam! All the health research says to get reusable ones!”

“Then we’ll _get_ reusable ones.” Ryouken snapped at the nuisance, looking around the aisle, “Where are they?” 

“You have to order them special online.” The A.I. made another distressed noise, “Why? Why don’t you just sell them in stores? That doesn’t make seeeeeeeeense!”

“Because then people would buy them, and that’s bad for companies that want to sell them every month.” Ryouken sighs, annoyed to realize that he came out here for nothing. Angry now, Ryouken looks for the box with the least amount of pads, which turns out to be a trial box. He’ll order reusable pads when he gets home, for now Yusaku going to have to settle for a trial box of what Ryouken hopes are the least harmful pads in the store. Hopefully the boy doesn't complain about the liberty taken, but Ryouken hopes that Yusaku won't mind, considering he also hopes the boy wouldn't use the damn brand he was using if he had money for anything else.

Who knows, maybe after being forced to use the expensive shit he won't mind the reusable brand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day I'm going to stop finishing these chapters at six AM and then immediately posting after. 
> 
> But hey! I finally brought us back to Takeru! Look! He's alive and everything. All a bonding with his smug, hero obsessed, Ignis partner. 
> 
> In this chapter I learned I will always Ignis as incredibly smart and quirky, but their knowledge on human tropes and relationships are more than a bit skewed. Don't blame them guys, Flame was born wanting to be Takeru's hero (in my headcanons of how the Ignis were made anyway). Of course he was going to see the world in superhero tropes. 
> 
> Someone save Pawn from what I have planned for the poor bastard, because Queen does have a plan for him and it's not good.
> 
> Miyu's mom is a Karen. I think that's all you need to know about her to get the full insight to Miyu's complicated relationship with her overbearing mother. This joke has gone so far a friend and I named her Karin. At least Aqua is a nice, reasonable, presence in Miyu's life!
> 
> Seriously, where is the Ignis love? Let them bond with their origins Vrains!!!!!
> 
> The awkward moment when you gotta be a good boyfriend and go to the store with your (romantic rival) boyfriend's annoying attachment and debate period pads.
> 
> Seriously, disposable pads suck. Why did we start using them again? They're just objectively terrible.


	11. Chapter 11

* * *

**Greng-Jai** : ( _Thai_ ) Basically the uneasy feeling you get when someone goes out of their way to help you but you know it is a hassle

* * *

Living in the Kogami residence is somewhat surreal to Yusaku.

It doesn’t escape him that none of the current residents want to be here, heavily renovented or not. Despite its size and beautiful location, the house was still renovated from a former observatory, and despite being Ryouken’s childhood home it was also the place where the worst memories of his life were made, not the least of which was his father’s death. It's very likely that, had it not been for the leaks, Ryouken would have never returned.

It’s also very likely Yusaku wouldn’t have either, despite his confidence that Ryouken would return to Den City and his hope that they could still move on and build a future together. Perhaps not the way he had privately wanted, with those inconvenient feelings that develop from spending your life entirely dedicated to a person whose face you could only barely remember, and whose name sat on the tip of your tongue but remained frustratingly absent from your ears. It’s not a normal way to love someone, it’s not that healthy way, but then again Yusaku had never cared much for what other people considered good for him. And that’s fine, that’s really fine, he’d never expected anything of his voice of hope, despite what Ryouken thinks. Yusaku was just glad to know he was _safe_ and _alive_ , because moving on while that uncertainty lingered on in his mind had been as impossible as surviving lost in the infinite void of space all alone. 

And so he was content to move on from those feelings at the very least. But the whole “moving on” issue is somewhat put on hold for him, if not downright off the table, in many ways now that he’s domestic with Ryouken.

It’s hard, and it’s only been made harder by the fact that Ryouken is keeping his promise to try to be better. And maybe that would be a good thing in any other case, because Ryouken is a well guarded wall of cool expressions and refusal to share his emotions or thoughts or feelings. He has a fine mask in place, and peeling back the layers in his guard was like trying to chip your way through a mountain sized glacier with a handheld ice pick. Yusaku just couldn’t get a read on his thought process, or what he thought he was doing, which was endlessly frustrating.

This attitude is the natural result of being raised by amoral scientists ready and willing to kidnap children with families that will look for them, Yusaku supposes. You have to learn how to hide the things that will make you suspicious. And the trait was only amplified by his own regrets calling the police on his father and Dr. Kogami’s cohorts, and then made terrifyingly worse by starting and leading a terrorist organization at the ripe age of thirteen.

A guarded attitude was understandable. Yusaku himself is more than guarded. He’s spent years and years bleeding out from emotional exhaustion until his own expressions became dulled and apathetic. In a way, Yusaku’s own guard is no less extreme than Ryouken’s, just in a different way, and willingly disregarded in the face of the one person he had always wanted to save.

So it’s a surreal and conflicting experience to live in the same house as Ryouken, decorated like a real home, eating breakfast with him every morning, and then casually have his voice of hope remind him to take his medications after, all while wearing the same cool glare he’d had when Yusaku came to meet him when his father’s corpse lay freshly dead behind him.

It’s a little mystifying, not the least bit because Ryouken likes to make him coffee. And Yusaku doesn’t know if this is a show of friendship or a calculated move on the part of the man who is most certainly the leader of the Knights of Hanoi, for whatever that’s worth now that the leaks exposed his lieutenants and ruined their lives for good this time. 

Yusaku isn’t naive as Ryouken thinks, he knows they have a plan despite this, that the boat doesn’t exist because they thought he wouldn’t find a way to expose them to the police. They’re absolutely still working on their mission, their plans have just been thrown off the rails for now and they have to accommodate trying to keep their resources from being stolen. 

The resources in question being he and the rest of the children, of course. Because the children of the Lost Incident weren’t victims to Kogami and his lieutenants, they were property, and Yusaku will never forget this fact even if Ryouken chooses to.

Because _maybe_ those lieutenants sometimes forget that Spectre is one of their test subjects, and maybe they have come to accept him as one of their own, and maybe they even forgot what they did to him. Or worse, maybe they took his acceptance of what they did to him and thought that was validation and forgot that Spectre didn’t speak for the rest of the victims. But he doesn’t, and neither does Yusaku. Only the other victims can decide whether or not to forgive.

And Yusaku will never forgive them. He can find peace with them, he can even accept they haven’t been arrested so long as they become remorseful eventually. But he’ll never forgive them.

But he can live, he can move on.

It’s just odd to him, is all, and he’s been staring down at the coffee cup he was just handed for the last few moments with a small quirk of the eyebrow. “Thank you.”

Ryouken grunts, a small and barely audible “you’re welcome” leaving his lips as he turns back to his work on a laptop that was probably more expensive than Yusaku’s former apartment rent. Not an outstanding accomplishment, but costly. 

Yusaku sips his coffee, lots of cream and no sugar, the way Ryouken always made it for him in particular. His eyes flicker over the creamy liquid, tongue clicking as the bubbles swirl around the cup. He looks up, trying to raise a brow at his now housemate, trying to gauge why Ryouken is trying to bribe him with an afternoon coffee in the living room. But the white haired man simply typed away at his laptop, not even bothering to spare him a second glance.

Whatever. Somehow, Yusaku doubts that the coffee is drugged or anything, seeing as Ryouken had plenty of opportunities to drug him already today. And, he reminds himself gently, the other wouldn’t have bothered saving him if it was for something nefarious. Nevermind Yusaku’s own default trust in him regardless.

So he sips his coffee, simply glade the other boy hadn’t decided to be petty and make the coffee the way Ryouken himself prefers it, which is drowning in so much sugar and syrups that Yusaku doesn’t even know how he manages to drink a single cup and not simply kneel over from some sort of cardiac arrest. Whatever workout routine he had to keep his body at optimum health, no doubt calculated to the very second and including variables such as his terrible addiction to the liquidized sugar he called coffee. 

And they stay like that for a bit, with Ryouken working furiously on whatever he’s planning, something Yusaku will no doubt have to stop later, _if_ there’s ever a later. He hadn’t had time to think of it before now, before here, but he doesn’t know quite where they stand anymore. For all that Ryouken had decried his plans to hold out in a sewer or a brothel until a better plan could be made, no one had really thought about a permanent solution, as far as he could tell.

Unless Ryouken’s plan at a permanent solution would be for him and Yusaku and Spectre and Kusanagi to forever dance around one another in the Kogami household.

And, to be perfectly honest, Yusaku could be content with that. He really could. The house is near unrecognizable from what it once was, when he and Ryouken met again during their disastrous reunion. And with a little more renovation then, perhaps, the other boy could even forget this was his childhood home and the place his father died at all. It’s not like Yusaku would be bereft of independence, either. It was a big house, and he could easily use his skills with hacking to shield his identity and do paid work so he’d have his own independent source of income, and online shopping could get him damn near anything he’d need. With some time and effort he could even put together a rough disguise and venture out of the house every now and again, or build an income from his rent free living until you could the other side of the world if he’d felt so inclined.

So he doesn’t feel disinclined at all to go along with this plan if that’s what is happening. The only problem, he realizes, is that he just can’t get a read on whether or not such a thing is what Ryouken actually wants. 

All he has to do is tell Yusaku to leave, and the younger boy will. He absolutely will, and he’ll get used to it. Because if the best thing for Ryouken is to not have Yusaku in his life, then he’ll just have to get used to that. Just like what’s best for Yusaku is to be free of Ryouken’s family. He’ll never make Ryouken choose between them, if he can find a way to balance both in his life without crossing them, then so be it. 

It’s all up to Ryouken.

Yusaku hums, placing down his coffee and tapping rapidly at his keyboard. Days of running and half ignoring his problems have eaten away at his cybersecurity, and now that he’s a target of interest it’s more difficult than ever to keep the hackers at bay, both well meaning and otherwise. Even Ryouken’s firewalls don’t do much to help.

That or the fact that Ryouken is Kogami’s son makes him a bigger target for hackers. 

Spectre walks into the living room, carrying a whole tea set with a few stacks. Because Spectre prefers tea over coffee. Yusaku wouldn’t normally chalk such a preference up to being a pretentious prick, but Spectre is a lot of things and a pretentious prick is the most notable. Yusaku wouldn’t be surprised if he only liked tea because it’s what posh people like. Prick. 

“I think we should grow some herbs in the garden.” Spectre announces, sitting on the edge of the couch and smiling that sly little smug simple at him. Because he loves irritating Yusaku. He doesn’t know why Spectre loves harassing him so much, maybe because they’re still technically enemies, maybe because Yusaku forced him to face an incredibly painful and elaborate mommy issues specific therapy via their duel. 

Not that it helped.

At all.

Nor did Yusaku intend it to, because Spectre was being an asshole and Zaizen Akira got deleted because this asshole is down to murder. Say what you want about Yusaku’s attitude back then, at least he wasn’t going around lobotomizing people. 

“Do whatever you want with the garden.” Ryouken grants permission dismissively, not even bothering to look up from his laptop. Either because he doesn’t care or because he’s really nervous, Yusaku suspects.

This place didn’t even have a garden. All Ryouken did was end up giving Spectre permission to splurge money building one up. Oh to be so painfully rich. Yusaku can think of a few times in his life where such dismissive and uncaring money dropping could have massively improved his own quality of life. Rich assholes. 

Then, just because Spectre is a vicariously rich asshole, he turns to Yusaku with a green, “Would you like to join me in gardening, _Fujiki?_ ”

Yusaku has not touched a gardening tool since his last foster home, and he’s not about to do so again. Not when Ryouken has a small army of maidbots and Spectre to do the yardwork, “No.”

“Oh, how sad.” Spectre’s tone doesn’t match his words. He picks up his teacup, that ever present smug smile on his lips as he speaks. He blows on his tea, a puff of steam floating gently away as he speaks again, “Now that you’re trapped here with us and have nothing to do, I thought you’d enjoy taking up a hobby.” 

“I’m not lacking anything to do.” Yusaku told him simply. It wasn’t exactly a lie, not really. He did have things to do, just not much. His life has become a neverending barrage of sleepless nights and balancing the careful line between appearing normal and unextraordinary on records while seeking his vengeance as Playmaker online. The work had died a lot since he stopped the Knights, and Playmaker hadn’t made an appearance since, but that doesn’t mean the work had died. His secret as a former victim may be public now, and it’s more than likely people realize who Playmaker is…

But Unknown is still active, and Yusaku can still utilize the reputation and connections he made as the account. Particularly those in the Dark Web, and _especially_ those in the Mariana Web. He just needs to find the right time to make a move and…

Well...he’s not sure. 

Yusaku pauses, thinking.

He could hunt down Rook, Knight, and Bishop. He’s sure that everyone that was affected by the leaks would very much like to have a little revenge. But...it’s also just as likely SOLtech has already taken them out, or they’ve already been arrested. He’s not sure, he’ll have to ask his contacts in the Mariana Web. But if there’s no way to take revenge…

Well, there’s nothing more he can do then stand in the way of whatever Ryouken and the other Knights of Hanoi try to do. A task that will be...awkward...now that they were living together. But he couldn’t stand by and just let Ryouken destroy Ai. Not after everything they’ve been through.

Speaking of Ai.

“You’re not on Twitter again, are you?” He holds up his wrist, glaring at the duel disk where he knows for a fact Ai is causing mischief. 

From his spot, Ryouken makes a noise of pure contempt, daring to even glace up from his work to glare at the Ignis in question. From beside Yusaku, Spectre gives his own disapproving click of the tongue, “Really?”

“I’m popular!” Ai pops out of the duel disk, looking like a kid in a candy store, “I have so many followers! And only _some_ are technophobes! People love me! I even got the actor of ‘Blood And Wine Kisses’ to follow me back!”

“Congratulations.” Yusaku replies blandly, dropping his arm gently in his lap. “Just don’t tell them anything important.”

“I’m not _stupid_. I know that!” Ai points at him accusingly. “I block anyone that asks about where you are!”

Spectre gives Ai another contemptuous look, wrinkling his nose in distaste before turning back to his tea. Then, perhaps hoping to turn the conversation to anything that _isn’t_ social media, the blonde haired prick decides to bother Yusaku again. “I just personally think that you could clearly use some more sun, Fujiki.”

“I don’t want to hear that from a man whose aesthetic is being a ghost.” Yusaku responds without a beat. Because he’s finding that he’ll always take any and every excuse to take jabs at Spectre. It’s not meant viciously, not unless Spectre gets vicious, like he was during their duel when he was jabbing at Yusaku’s weak points, trying to make him doubt the moral righteousness of his revenge.

But this isn’t like that. This is almost... _fond._

He never, ever, thought for even a moment that Spectre would be _fond_ of him. But he supposes that Spectre disliked him for being an enemy and standing in Ryouken’s way. Because Spectre has hitched his whole life on whatever Ryouken’s goals are, no questions asked. But it seems that, without the veil of the Knights of Hanoi and their enemy, Playmaker, standing between them, then there’s _something_ about Yusaku that makes Spectre drawn to him.

Probably because Yusaku always responds to his barbs with barbs of his own. Spectre seems like the kind of slimy git that would like that.

“I just don’t think your poor skin and keep going without vitamin D.” Spectre shots back with a smug grin, lifting his overly fancy tea cup to his lips. “The way you’re going, you’ll be old and wrinkled and horrifically ashen by the time you’re twenty. You should really lotion.”

“Why are you staring at my skin?” Yusaku turns to him, quirking a brow. “Do you find scars attractive now?”

“Hardly.” Spectre snorts, crossing his legs and leaning back against the caught, leveling a critical eye at his fellow victims. “You look absolutely grotesque, I insist you take some of my skin creme so my eyes don’t have to be stained with your horrid looks.”

“You probably made it toxic.” Yusaku snipes back, not looking up from his screen. “I’m not interested in melting my skin, thanks.”

“Really? That’s too bad.” Spectre states snidely, “I’m sure it would have been an improvement.”

“I’m sure anything would be an improvement to looking in a mirror for you.” Yusaku is rapidly becoming tired of this game, so he decides to end it simply. “I hate gardening.”

“So, so, cruel.” Spectre criticizes. “And unclothed, and _uncultured_.”

“You were raised in this house and probably never went anywhere that wasn’t a fancy restaurant downtown.” Yusaku puts an end to _that_ , looking up from his screen to look Spectre in the eye. “The only thing you know about culture is what you looked up on wiki and what you learned watching regency documentaries. I bet you don’t even _know_ any artists besides a three classical artists and two composers. Do you even know the difference between Chopin and Batch? Name _one_ traditional Japanese composer.” 

Blue-grey eyes stared at him, wide and started. Even Ryouken looked up from his computer with a frown on his face. 

“See, I went to this amazing place called a _school_ and got a thing known as a _well rounded education_ .” Yusaku pointed at Spectre, giving him a withering glare. “ _You_ were tutored by scientists that couldn’t tell you the difference between the Qing Dynasty and Athens. Fuck off, I’m not the uncultured one here. I’ve _been_ outside of Den City before. The farthest you went is over the shore line.”

Spectre stared at him with wide eyes for a long, long time. He gently placed down his cup, speaking very slowly, “I...educated myself on the matters.”

Yusaku gave him an unimpressed glare, “Reading the story of Blue Angel and pretending you know anything about British culture doesn’t count. Especially when there’s no British empire anymore. They’re all just city-states now. Just like everyone else.”

“I knew _that_ .” Spectre scoffed, “I _do_ have a basic understanding of history.”

“World War Two and the Kaiba Corp takeover don’t count.” Yusaku looks back to his computer. “Everyone knows about that. Come back to me when you can tell me a composure besides Beethoven and Mozart.”

“Batch.” Spectre replies dully, just to be an asshole.

“Alright, that’s enough playing around you two.” Ryouken snaps his laptop closed, pushing it aside and stiffening like he’s sitting on an uncomfortable throne rather than a plush chair that he happens to know is comfortable because it’s his preferred seat in the living room, but he wasn’t about to make Ryouken move. Now Ryouken was crossing his arms at them like a scolding king. “I emailed both the doctor and the clinical psychiatrist we’ve chosen and they agreed to see you.” 

Oh.

“Well.” Spectre starts, sipping his tea. “That’s good, then.”

He’s not bullshitting, because he probably doesn’t remember going to therapy after the Lost Incident. If he even had a chance to go before he ran off. Yusaku doesn’t know the details between when Spectre went missing and when he ended up here, but he knows therapy wasn’t it, otherwise his coping habits would be such shit and, well, to be frank, he wouldn’t even _be_ here. Because there’s no way a therapist wouldn’t try to tackle a desire to go back to one’s abusers first and foremost. Not unless they were corrupt assholes or purposely trying to…

...oh…

For a terrible, awful moment Yusaku wonders who Spectre’s maybe therapist was and whether or not he should track them down and kick in their teeth. He can’t _prove_ Spectre was being groomed to be a willing test subject for SOLtech again, but considering that the leaks confirmed their therapy was sabotaged on purpose, he wouldn’t be surprised. He didn’t read any of the other’s files out of respect, but maybe he should take a peak at Spectre’s.

“It’s going to be uncomfortable.” Yusaku states blandly, pulling his legs up and letting the balls of his feet rest on the edge of the couch. His laptop slaps closed, resting safely between his thighs and his chest once he pulls his legs close enough to hug, resting his chin on his knees. “When will they be here.”

“They need to get their equipment ready and prepare everything I requested. So two days from now.” Ryouken’s eyes land on the both of them, studying his two wards critically. “We’ll start with the medical check-up. Blood tests, allergy tests, everything you need physically. Then we’ll each have a session with the psychiatrist.” 

So. Ryouken intended to make good on his promise to get help. That’s good. Maybe an actual, professional, adult that deals in trying to talk down self-destructive people for a living and prescribes medications to help will break him out of his cult-like worship of his father’s beliefs. Or at the very least make him realize he can still love bad people.

“So we have three days to mentally prepare for that.” Yusaku hums, tucking further into himself. He looks up, green eyes meeting crystal blue, and gives the only warning he can. “Therapy only works with repeat. It’s not going to seem like it’s doing anything at first.”

“You don’t need to tell me that.” Ryouken drawls, unimpressed, expression remained cool and unkind. “I at least know that much. My homeschooling, disapproving of it as you are, _did_ include an understanding of psychology and human development.”

“Knowing something and experiencing something are worlds different.” Yusaku warns. Then, because he’s very quickly learned how far he can push Ryouken before something like an argument would start between them. So he turns back to Spectre instead, hoping to deescalate the fight before it can begin. “What about you, Spectre? Excited to finally have the medications you so clearly need?”

Spectre flips him the bird.

Not five seconds after he does Kusanagi walks through the front door, his tired eyes landing on Spectre and a long, long sigh leaving his lips. This is, in itself, not an abnormal reaction to Kusanagi returning home these days. He, of everyone, is the one that wants to be here the least. And being in his late twenties, he’s a lot more exhausted by the admittedly sometimes immature teenage antics Spectre and Yusaku succumb to when in the same room. Those antics being their barbs and bird flipping, which isn’t itself actually that bad for teenagers, but Kusanagi is more than used to the three teens in this room acting more adult than most actual adults so even that little indulgence exhausts him.

Or, at least, that’s what Yusaku tells himself. The truth is just looking at Ryouken and Spectre makes Kusanagi exhausted because he hates both of them and everything they believe in.

“Welcome home.” Yusaku greets evenly, uncurling himself to look Kusanagi up and down better, resting his arms in his lap. “How is Jin?”

“Coping.” Kusanagi states simply, dragging himself towards the couch and slumping down with a flop. Then, because out of everyone in the room Kusanagi turns out to be not only a traitor but the biggest asshole, he steals Yusaku’s coffee and takes a long sip. Then, on top of that, he has the gall to say, “Your tastes in coffee sucks.”

Traitor.

Yusaku hums in response. “Did you change doctors like you planned?”

“Yeah.” Kusanagi nods, looking more exhausted than ever. “But it was hard. The hospital is a mess now. And more than half the staff had to be fired. And the fact Jin is even there made the screening process ten times harder for hiring new staff. Things are slow going, but at least his new nurse is nice. And his doctor is a very serious woman.”

“Hmm.” Yusaku nods, green eyes flickering between the attentive Ryouken and the uncaring Spectre. He lets out another sigh, half wanting to question what Kusanagi plans to do if Jin gets better. Probably not bring him here. Which means at least Kusanagi’s residence here is temporary. Though Yusaku doesn’t know what he plans to do if he leaves. He can’t afford a gated house like this.

He hopes Kusanagi doesn’t outright move out of the city and to a different city-state far away. Yusaku has become rather fond of him, and he’d like Kusanagi to stay as part of his life. 

He wants to ask so bad what they’re going to do. 

“There’s a kid outside, by the way.” Kusanagi casually drops, sipping Yusaku’s stolen coffee. He glances at Ryouken, unpitying. “He’s Subject 005, Homura Tekeru. I found him roaming around outside and brought him in. He’s in my van.”

Ryouken nearly drops his coffee.

Spectre makes a low hum, smiling a wicked little thing that shows the fine points of his teeth, “Oh? Picking up strays now, are we?”

“Fuck off.” Kusanagi breaths, wrinkling his nose. “He has an ignis and they knew who I was. Of course I let them in. There’s still a dozen reporters hounding your gate.”

Ryouken lets out a long breath, cool face unchanging as he pinches the bridge of his nose before cracking his eyes open, “Why are they here?”

“Apparently their ignis tracked what all the others were doing and figured the house with the gate and multiple layers of cybersecurity was the safest bet.” Kusanagi looks down at Yusaku’s duel disk, where Ai has been busy with twitter. “He said he knew you were here.”

“Yeah, the Flame Ignis is kinda one of the only ones close to liking me.” Ai waves his hand at Kusanagi, chuckling. “Oh how the turntables. That guy always ignored me, and now he wants to stay in my house.”

“My house.” Ryouken’s eyes narrow dangerously at Ai.

“Whatever.” Ai dismisses, not actually caring at all about Ryouken’s opinion nor the fact that this was not, in fact, legally his house. “The point is, the Flame Ignis knows how much I like Yusaku~ So he probably thinks this is the safest place for _his_ origin. So here they are. Coming in.”

Ryouken sighs, standing up. “I suppose I should go greet them, then.”

“I think they’d like meeting Yusaku better.” Kusanagi rolls his shoulders, sighing. His eyes land on Yusaku expectantly. “I think they’d be more...comfortable...meeting someone who... _gets it_.”

An awkward silence descends over the room, and Yusaku feels all eyes flickering towards him. He, for his part, reacts calmly. Simply standing up quietly and nodding, “Alright, makes sense, I’ll go.”

Then, before anyone can protest, he moves around the coffee table and leaves the living room, walking out the wooden and glass door and onto the porch.

It’s only once the door has closed behind him and he’s cut off from the others that he realizes he hasn’t actually been outside since Ryouken brought him here.

It shouldn’t be surprising. Not really. He objectively knows he hasn’t actually left the house. But with the way half the walls are just large glass windows it’s easy to forget, because he actually sees everything outside; from the brilliant blue of the ocean to the rocky junts of the cliffside to the green of the trees.

But being outside, actually being outside, is different.

“It’s getting colder.” He realizes, holding out his hand. It’s not cold yet, because Den City is more summer than any of the other seasons, a benefit of their more southern location. But even summer here must end. Technically, it was autumn now and has been for a while. But autumn is late to actually start in Den City. Leaves won’t start turning red until it’s already half passed.

An early autumn. 

The young teen breaths, holding out his hand and feeling the twing of chill. He probably only even notices it because his body is so susceptible to the cold, and it makes the aches and pains so much worse. During winter his bones never stop aching. It’s unpleasant, especially if something happens and he has to choose other needs over medications.

But this chill isn’t enough for that, this chill is more akin to the slight cool that comes from the rainy season. Not enough to hurt. Even if it was, he doesn’t think he’ll ever quite have to worry about winter aches again, not with Ryouken acting as his sponsor in that regard.

Green eyes flicker over the ocean, watching the waves push and pull against the shoreline, slapping the sides of the cliff. He can see the gate from here, reporters still gathered around even after a few days have already passed. Some must spot him, because cameras are raised and start flashing. He’s not close enough for those flashings to blind him, but he suspects that it would have been awful if he were down there with them.

Turning away from the sight, he walks away, heading towards the garage. “Ai, what’s the Flame Ignis like?”

“He thinks he’s cool.” Ai pops out of the duel disk, looking up at him with those pupiless yellow orbs. “He really likes superheroes and always wants to look cool. I think he was born from his origin’s desire for a hero to break him out of the...testing.”

Yusaku pauses.

“You know what you’re...born from?” Yusaku asks slowly, a twinge of unease twisting inside him. The idea that Ai could pinpoint the moment he was born is logical, considering his computerized data, but is also uneasy considering he has a human psychology. Infantile Amnesia doesn’t always set in for people, but it’s very, very, very rare. And Ai, as an A.I., seems to not experience it.

It shouldn’t bother him so much, but considering the circumstances behind the creation of the ignis...for the first time Yusaku considers the psychological damage that comes from being born of that kind of violence. And, suddenly, Ai’s obsessions with soap operas with predictable and easy plots come off as more of a coping mechanism than the annoyance Yusaku once regarded it with. Dissociation. Yusaku himself used to dissociate, back when he was seeing his old psychiatrist.

All of Ai’s lies and tricks and schemes suddenly seem to take a more tragic turn, actually. It’s not entirely different from Yusaku himself, he supposes. Which makes a sad sort of sense, because Ai was born from the ups and downs of _his_ psychology. He just presents it differently because Yusaku then went on to live a different life.

It bothers him to think that, in another world, he could have been as flamboyant as Ai. Taking Ai’s nature into the context of his own psychology, and applying what he knows about the A.I’s background with the other ignis and the Knights of Hanoi, suddenly his loud and overthetop personality seems more like a desperate cry for attention then anything. 

Yusaku wonders, idly, exactly what emotion or desire Ai was born from. If the Flame Ignis was born from Homura Takeru’s desire for a hero to save him, then it stands to reason that Ai was born from a desperate wish too.

Yusaku tries to recall, but it only takes mere moments of remembering being inside the room before he decides he can’t handle that right now and decides he’s better off not asking. Ai will tell him if he really wants to share.

Besides, he’s stepping inside of the garage now, and he needs to be put together for his fellow victim.

The blue haired boy takes the time to straighten himself up a bit, almost wishing he’d worn something better then the fitted jeans Ryouken bought him, because of course Ryouken has his measurements and only buys custom tailored shit, and the oversized pink shirt he rebelliously stolen from the boy in question.

“Hey! Fire Ignis! We’re here!” Ai calls out, cupping his nonexistent mouth. “Come on out and meet my origin!”

There’s a scrambling from the other side of Kusanagi’s van, where Ryouken’s own overly expensive silver car sits just out of sight. Yusaku hears two different voices let out startled noises, and a peppermint colored head peeks from the other side of the car.

The boy is his age, as expected. He’s a bit taller, Yusaku thinks. Just a bit. But they otherwise couldn’t be more different. He’s broader, and his hair is more kept then Yusaku’s own, like he’s brushed it down a hundred times. Which stands at odds with the lazy tracksuit he’s wearing.

On his arm is an out of date duel disk, one of the ignis sticking out of it, red and black, with his small arms crossed over his chest lazily. “Good to see you, Dark Ignis.”

“Ai.” Ai waves an angry finger towards the other ignis before just outright flailing his arms like a madman. “Respect the name Fire Ignis!”

“Flame now, actually.” The Ignis studies them with a critical eye before humming, “So you’re the infamous Playmaker.”

The boy he assumes is Homura blatches, his indigo eyes rolling over him a dozen and a half times. Whatever the boy was expecting, Yusaku clearly isn’t it. Whatever, that’s not Yusaku’s problem. They have worse things to worry about then his Playmaker identity.

“Fujiki Yusaku.” He tells the Fire Ignis, Flame, evenly. His eyes flicker back up to his fellow victim, studying the boy some more before speaking again, “And you’re Homura Takeru?”

Homura jumps, eyes wide. He scratches his arm, gulping lightly, “Um...right...yeah. That’s, um, me.”

“Hmm.” Yusaku hums, nodding his head, studying Homura. “Nice to meet you.”

The boy fiddles with the silver necklace hanging over the black t-shirt poking through this jacket, probably a nervous habit. He nods again, letting out a long breath. “Yeah. Yeah! It’s, um, great to meet you too! I’ve been trying to find you for a day or two. But the crowd made it hard.”

“We thought a gated house with security would be safer than our hotel.” Flame finishes for the boy. “So the three of us decided to make our way here.”

Three of them?

Just then a girl with a head of blue hair and amber eyes steps from behind the van, her pigtails hanging off her shoulders as she nervously steps forward, pink shirt a little grass stained and a leaf or two stuck in her head. She looks like she stepped from out of the bushes.

“Hello!” She waves, trying to smile despite how exhausted she looks. “I’m Kamishirakawa Kiku, a friend of Takeru’s.”

“A pleasure.” He answers, nodding his head. “So you were hoping for a place to stay.”

“Yes.” She twirls her thumbs around one another, her own nervous tick, probably. She shares a look with Takeru for a bit before her eyes landed back on Yusaku. “Takeru’s house isn’t really safe right now, and we don’t have anywhere else to go…”

She trails off, looking even more exhausted now. Yusaku’s heart pangs in sympathy, because he was in the same boat not a few days ago, but unlike him Homura doesn’t seem to have come up with an escape plan. He probably felt safer with his grandparents, like he would be okay. He was probably just trying to live a normal life before all this mess. And now he can’t.

“Well…” Yusaku looks them over. “This isn’t my house, but I’ll ask Ryouken if it’s okay.”

If either of them recognize the name, they don’t show it. Thought Flame’s small eyes narrow the slightest bit. So, neither of them have read the files? Or, if they did, they didn’t read them in excruciating detail. Or they only read what applied to the Lost Victims. 

Ai still feels the need to chime in, “Eeehh, he’s been docile these days. And he listens to whatever Yusaku says.”

Yusaku felt a brow quirking at that, because _that_ was an absolute falsification. He couldn’t get Ryouken to do anything, much less whatever he wanted. Sure, it had been much easier to get him to do things lately, but that didn’t mean it was easy by any stretch. Getting anything from Ryouken was like fighting a brick wall. Doable, but it was a lot of effort and hard work, and you’d destroy your hands.

But, he couldn’t find it in him to denounce Ai’s claims when it made Kamishirakawa practically start glowing from how hopeful she looked. “So you can let us stay?”

He swallowed, letting out a low breath. “I’ll ask.”

Kamishirakawa perked up even more. She looked so happy that she could float away. Yusaku shifted, looking back towards Homura, whose shoulders eased, the tenseness bleeding from him. He wonders, for a moment, how long those two had been wondering around out there without a play to stay. 

Probably since this whole mess started. 

Clicking his jaw, Yusaku turns around, resolving to get them a room no matter how much he has to fight Ryouken for it. “Come on, I’ll get you a room.”

The two unexpected quests scramble behind him, nosies of relief leaving them. He hears them throwing words towards one another. He should probably listen, but he trusts Ai enough to tell him if he hears something sketchy. Right now he’s focused on mentally steeling himself for what he hopes isn’t another argument.

He leads the two guests through the back entrance, into the house. It’s a bit longer, but the reporters won’t get their picture like they have Yusaku’s, so it’s fine. He doesn’t mind a bit of extra effort in that regard.

They make awed noises when they step into the home, marveling how big and elaborate it is. Yusaku doesn’t have the heart to dash their dreams by telling them that a few days ago it was an empty husk. Instead he leads them up the stairs and through the hall, back towards the living room.

Spectre had disappeared from the space, leaving behind nothing. Likely he decided to avoid whatever awkward conversation was coming. Kusanagi was gone too, probably deciding to leave this up to Yusaku since his success rate was even lower than the blue and pink haired boy’s.

Ryouken, for his part, had gone back to working. He was still perched on the chair, hands flying over the keyboard again as his cool mask remained firmly on his face. It was hard to tell if he was in a bad mood or not, so Yusaku decided that his usual bluntness was the best method, “They need a place to stay.”

Blue eyes glanced upwards, burning into Yusaku. Ryouken studied him intently, his face not twitching even the slightest to give any indication towards his thoughts. “Oh?”

“I think they’ve been running around since this whole thing started.” Yusaku tells him evenly, his usual dulled apathy not letting any of the pity he feels on. “They need somewhere safe to hide.”

“Please!” Kamishirakawa bows low, her pigtails falling past her face as she does. It’s as close to groveling as you can get without actually goveling. “Nowhere else is safe!”

Ryouken’s eyes land on her, and he doesn’t show a hint of recognizing her. It was a bad mood for her to speak, if you ask Yusaku’s opinion. Because Ryouken doesn’t know who she is, and with his distrusting nature he’s more than likely to kick her out then anything. Homura would have been a better bet. Or just letting Yusaku handle this. She’s unknowingly made things much harder on herself. And if she _does_ get to stay? Well, she’ll probably have a background check done before the hour is up. 

“They’re lost.” Yusaku cuts in smoothly, deciding to rescue her. Because while he’s also not sure about letting a stranger in, she also seems to be fairly harmless. At the very least he wants to give her a chance and do a background check first. Besides, he thinks Ryouken and Kusanagi could probably handle her without issues. So he lets his green eyes fall onto his special person, challenging him. “I think we should at least let them stay the night. But this is your house, so I won’t do anything you don’t want.”

It’s all he can really do, but he’s made his opinion known. Ryouken can draw his own conclusions from that.

Those blue eyes flicker over the guests. He’s studying them, intently at that. They slide over Kamishirakawa fist, taking in her still bowing form. Then they move over Homura, taking in every nook and cranny of his form before falling onto Flame. Then his eyes narrow further, “Ignis.”

“Teenager.” Flame says calmly, almost casually. “A pleasure to meet you.”

Ryouken doesn’t answer him, merely turning back to Yusaku, “This wasn’t part of the agreement.”

“You agreed to a ceasefire.” Yusaku stated, looking down at Ai, “If Ai can behave himself, and you can behave yourself, then it stands to reason that Flame can behave himself.”

Ryouken twitches, “You named it already.”

By now, both Kamishirakawa and Homura are starting to realize that this isn’t an easy battle, and Ryouken is a lot more knowledgeable and dangerous then they realized. Kamishirakawa stands up straight, her honey colored eyes flickering nervously as she realizes this. Homura, for his part, is getting visibly angry at Flame’s dehumanization. Ah, so they’re already close. 

Yusaku holds out a hand when Homura steps forward, probably ready to start a fight. But that won’t get them a place to stay, so he intervenes, “He.”

Ryouken almost looks dismayed. 

“What did you think was going to happen?” Yusaku asks him steadily, still holding his hand up to keep Homura in check. “The ignis are drawn to their origins, right? That’s what the notes said. Of course they were going to try to find them.”

Ryouken’s lips press thinly, his displeasure clear.

“Everything changed the moment those leaks happened.” Yusaku told him, as brutally honest as only he could be. “People know about them now. It’s not some secret war anymore. Of course they have allies and people who want to protect them now. Not just me.”

Those eyes flicker with the shadow of an emotion. Maybe dismay? Yusaku can’t tell. What he does know is that Ryouken responds. “You’re a fool, Playmaker.”

“Maybe.” He doesn’t deny it, because he is a bit of a fool. “But I’d prefer to treat them as the individuals they were made to be, and only fight them if they actually _do_ something to deserve it.”

The older boy lets out a long breath, one that Yusaku has come to learn means Ryouken is slightly angry and exasperated with him and he doesn’t want to have this conversation anymore. He turns back to his laptop, typing angrily, “Just make sure it doesn’t do anything.”

Which means that he’s letting them stay.

“Thank you, Ryouken.” He nods, easing the tension from his shoulders. He lowers his hand, nodding, “Homura Takeru and his friend Kamishirakawa Kiku.”

“Thank you for letting us stay!” Kiku bows again.

Ryouken doesn’t even spare her a glance, “You’re welcome. Yusaku, pick a room for them.”

The blue haired boy nods, knowing that they’ll probably be talking about this again later, but content for now. He turns, motioning for the two guests to follow them as he leads them towards the bedrooms.

As soon as they’re out of Ryouken’s sight, Homura speaks, “Man, what a jerk.”

Yusaku hums in agreement, “A bit. But he’s a steadfast ally and a friend, so he can be bearable sometimes.”

Homura gives him a skeptical look. Yusaku can’t even really blame him for it. Ryouken absolutely was an unbearable asshole sometimes. It’s just that...Yusaku also happens to care about him a little too much and trusts him to do what he thinks is best. Even if what was best wasn’t what was right. And that’s just the heart of their issues.

“This can be your room.” Yusaku knocks on the door next to his own, but away from Ryouken’s. Then he moves across the hall and nocks on another one, “And this can be your room Kamishirakawa.”

“Thank you again for letting us stay.” She bows again, ever thankful. “We’ll repay you somehow.”

“Yeah, thanks man.” Homura also gives a bow, though a more awkward one. “We...needed a place.”

“It’s the least we could do.” He assures them, because Homura might spend a few days with Ryouken and decide to book it for all he knows. Either way, he’s weak to the needs of a fellow victim, so he would have done anything to help. “I’ll give you some time to sit down. We don’t serve lunch together, but we make dinner.”

“Um, thanks buddy.” Homura scratches the back of his head nervously. He looks at Yusaku like he wants to say something, but he saves it for later, turning to help his friend. “We’ll...be there.”

“Good.” Yusaku nods, and he leaves them with a nod, wondering how long this, too, will last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Crawls from the debts of hell] I'm so sorry, it's been a rough one.


End file.
